[And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and
who has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures. -- KORAN.] 

In Heaven a spirit doth dwell 
          Whose heart-strings are a lute; 
None sing so wildly well 
As the angel Israfel, 
And the giddy stars (so legends tell), 
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell 
          Of his voice, all mute. 

Tottering above 
          In her highest noon, 
          The enamoured moon 
Blushes with love, 
          While, to listen, the red levin 
          (With the rapid Pleiads, even, 
           Which are seven) 
Pauses in Heaven. 

And they say (the starry choir 
          And the other listening things) 
That Israfeli's fire 
Is owing to that lyre 
          By which he sits and sings, 
The trembling living wire 
          Of those unusual strings. 

But the skies that angel trod, 
          Where deep thoughts are a duty, 
Where Love's a grown-up God, 
          Where the Houri glances are 
Imbued with all the beauty 
          Which we worship in a star. 

Therefore thou art not wrong, 
          Israfeli, who despisest 
An unimpassioned song; 
To thee the laurels belong, 
          Best bard, because the wisest: 
Merrily live, and long! 

The ecstasies above 
          With thy burning measures suit: 
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, 
          With the fervor of thy lute: 
          Well may the stars be mute! 

Yes, Heaven is thine; but this 
          Is a world of sweets and sours; 
          Our flowers are merely -- flowers, 
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss 
          Is the sunshine of ours. 

If I could dwell 
Where Israfel 
          Hath dwelt, and he were I, 
He might not sing so wildly well 
          A mortal melody, 
While a bolder note than this might swell 
          From my lyre within the sky.