When stars pursue their solemn flight, Oft in the middle of the night, A strain of music visits me, Hushed in a moment silverly,— Such rich and rapturous strains as make The very soul of silence ache With longing for the melody; Or how or whence those tones be heard, Hearing, the slumbering soul is stirred, As when a swiftly passing light Startles the shadows into flight; While one remembrance suddenly Thrills through the melting melody,— A strain of music in the night. - Harriet Prescott Spofford