Section Two
“Many's the heart that's breaking
If we could read them all
After the ball is over.”
(An old song.)
Scornfully, gaily
To be read or sung slowly and softly, in the manner of lustful, insinuating music.
The bandmaster sways,
Changing the strain
That the wild band plays.
With a red and royal intoxication,
A tangle of sounds
And a syncopation,
Sweeping and bending
From side to side,
Master of dreams,
With a peacock pride.
A lord of the delicate flowers of delight
He drives compunction
Back through the night.
Dreams he's a soldier
Plumed and spurred,
And valiant lads
Arise at his word,
Flaying the sober
Thoughts he hates,
Driving them back
From the dream-town gates.
How can the languorous
Dancers know
The red dreams come
When the good dreams go?
To be read or chanted slowly and softly in the manner of lustful, insinuating music
“'Tis the
Night
Of love,”
Call the silver joy-bells,
“Night
Of love,”
Call the silver joy-bells.
Honey and wine,
Honey and wine.
Sing low, now, violins,
Sing, sing low,
Blow gently, wood-wind,
Mellow and slow.
Like midnight poppies
The sweethearts bloom.
Their eyes flash power,
Their lips are dumb.
Faster and faster
Their pulses come,
Though softer now
The drum-beats fall.
Honey and wine,
Honey and wine.
'Tis the firemen's ball,
'Tis the firemen's ball.
“I am slain,”
With a climax of whispered mourning.
Cries true-love
There in the shadow.
“And I die,”
Cries true-love,
There laid low.
“When the fire-dreams come,
The wise dreams go.”
But HIS CRY IS DROWNED
Suddenly interrupting. To be read or sung in heavy bass. First eight lines as harsh as possible. Then gradually musical and sonorous.
By THE PROUD BAND-MASTER.
And now great gongs whang,
Sharper, faster,
And kettledrums rattle
And hide the shame
With a swish and a swirk
In dead love's name.
Red and crimson
And scarlet and rose
Magical poppies
The sweethearts bloom.
The scarlet stays
When the rose-flush goes,
And love lies low
In a marble tomb.
“'Tis the
Night
Of doom,”
Call the ding-dong doom-bells.
“Night
Of Doom,”
Call the ding-dong doom-bells.
Hark how the piccolos still make cheer.
Sharply interrupting in a very high key.
“'Tis a moonlight night in the spring of the year.”
Clangaranga, CLANGARANGA,
Clang ... CLANG ... CLANG.
Clang ... A ... RANGA ...
Clang ... A ... RANGA ...
Clang ... CLANG ... CLANG ...
Listen ... TO ... THE ... MUSIC ...
Of ... THE ... FIREMEN'S ... BALL ...
Listen ... TO ... THE ... MUSIC ...
Of ... THE ... FIREMEN'S ... BALL ...
