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SOUND
Fumes of dead feasts and half sped dreams retold,
Recall all instruments of subtle mould;
Rude Balalaika; Harp, with voice of gold,
With heavy limbs and harp=strings gilt;
The Oboe, half afraid for guilt;
Pan's clustered phials, stored with all the notes,
The myriad cries of all his woodland throats,
The mellow wondering the night=fowl hoots,
And creeping morning's rapture trills,
That fall in bars of lewd quadrilles;
Bring cruel Bells that scream with lips of jade;
Bring wooden Bells that bark and make afraid;
And Dulcimers that tinkle to their grade;
Zombamba's monophonous hum;
The laughter of the copper Drum;
The Tambour, with its laugh less comatose;
Bring, song=birds' tutors, tiny Zuffolos;
Hail, weirdness of the comic mask of those
Whose fingers crawl on hollow Flutes;
Come, courteous Viol, that dilutes
A moment's joy into a life of pain,
Crime into song, its poisonous balm, like rain,
Drips from its wailing in the sufferer's brain;
Come, shrieking Siren; pitiless Gong;
Unnatural Woman, lead the song;
Come all fierce instruments, the Bugle blare;
Come, whistling of the fretted Steeple, where
The wind grows frightened in the iron stair.
Recall all instruments of subtle mould;
Rude Balalaika; Harp, with voice of gold,
With heavy limbs and harp=strings gilt;
The Oboe, half afraid for guilt;
Pan's clustered phials, stored with all the notes,
The myriad cries of all his woodland throats,
The mellow wondering the night=fowl hoots,
And creeping morning's rapture trills,
That fall in bars of lewd quadrilles;
Bring cruel Bells that scream with lips of jade;
Bring wooden Bells that bark and make afraid;
And Dulcimers that tinkle to their grade;
Zombamba's monophonous hum;
The laughter of the copper Drum;
The Tambour, with its laugh less comatose;
Bring, song=birds' tutors, tiny Zuffolos;
Hail, weirdness of the comic mask of those
Whose fingers crawl on hollow Flutes;
Come, courteous Viol, that dilutes
Crime into song, its poisonous balm, like rain,
Drips from its wailing in the sufferer's brain;
Come, shrieking Siren; pitiless Gong;
Unnatural Woman, lead the song;
Come all fierce instruments, the Bugle blare;
Come, whistling of the fretted Steeple, where
The wind grows frightened in the iron stair.
O, lust of sound, be quenched. Beat! Blow!
-Insult the tiresome Piano.
-Insult the tiresome Piano.
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