They forget that the only music that I am used to hearing, except what the birds make, is pumped out of the wheezy little organ at church.
I could sit up all night to listen to them.

It makes me feel so strange that I hardly know how to describe it,--as if I were away off from everything, and high up, where it is wide and open, and where the stars are.

It makes me want to write.

All sorts of beautiful thoughts come to me, that I can _almost_ put into words.

But they are like will-o'-the-wisps.