Ye Who Will Help Me In My Dying Pain, Speak Not A Word: Let All Your Voices Cease. Let Me But Hear Some Soft Harmonious Strain, And I Shall Die At Peace. Music Entrances, Soothes, And Grants Relief From All Below By Which We Are Opprest; I Pray You, Speak No Word Unto My Grief, But Lull It Into Rest. Tired Am I Of All Words, And Tired Of Aught That May Some Falsehood From The Ear Conceal, Desiring Rather Sounds Which Ask No Thought, Which I Need Only Feel: A Melody In Whose Delicious Streams The Soul May Sink, And Pass Without A Breath From Fevered Fancies Into Quiet Dreams, From Dreaming Into Death.