Hark, each Tree its silence breaks,
The Box and Fir to talk begin.
This is the sprightly Violin,
That in the Flute distinctly speaks.
‘Twas Sympathy their list'ning Brethren drew
When to the Thracian Lyre with leafy Wings they flew.
Janáček: On an Overgrown Path, Book I: No. 2, A Blown-Away Leaf
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