in Thoreau’s Journal:
At the E window. A temperate noon. I hear a cricket creak in the shade also the sound of a distant piano. The music reminds me of imagined heroic ages—it suggests such ideas of human life and the field which the earth affords as the few noblest passages of poetry— Those few interrupted strains which reach me through the trees suggest the same thoughts & aspirations that all melody—by whatever sense appreciated has ever done— I am affected.