When I need to relax this is what I listen to.
It’s verging on hypnotic, read by Benedict Cumberbatch. I’ve been amazed to note that poetry doesn’t work unless you devote yourself. The meaning is so thick, meaning every word counts, almost counting double in comparison to prose, that you need to be fully engaged to not miss something. This was written in 1819 so not all turns of phrase are immediately accessible, making it that much harder. But when the rhythm is right, such as in this clip, meaning is clearer. Conclusion: poetry appears to be compacted meaning and emotion carried on the winds of rhythm. And I love it.