And now it begins, soft and slow,
Plaintive notes, stately as they go
To who knows what heavens hence may hold;
Still yet the infant music flows

Then waxing, rise, in beat and temper
Though still yet the kindness, sweet and tender,
Caressing the heart as it goes,
Grieving, then, in its dying throes,

For now the tempest swells; it roars
The howl of wolves, the shrieks of boars
Rampaging loose on dusty lands
Beside the monarch’s den, whose cleaving hands

Shall smite the breasts of men,
Rip souls in half, in scores, in ten,
Tear chasms vast, and other things beside,
Cast fear into hair and hapless hide,

Can not you feel it? Even now it speaks;
Though its voice is muted, still yet it wreaks
A havoc terrible, in the chambers of the heart
As tears and eyes now drift apart

Upon shivering cheeks but moved
By war that claims and strangely soothes
Emotionless, like soldiers before a battle,
Calm in blood, cool in mettle,

Yet beneath, the fear that lurks within,
Hatred, strong, that sleeps within,
Yet a love that stirs, and still does take
More lives than hate and fear partake

Are monsters always ever so sweet,
That hours may pass after their final leap,
Mauling men most terribly, and then impart
Ecstasy, in every pore of the bleeding heart?

For words no longer care to say;
Answers do not linger today
Before the questing furnace’ flame:
Wild and vicious, yet curiously tame

To not burn the skins of its watchers so –
Twelve dozen score, some less, some more
The rhythm is swaying, to and fro, to and fro,
Charming charmers, at their melting core,

But now it slows,
Bitter, reluctant, still yet it goes
And tempest fades and thunder dims,
Playthings before His idle whims,

And now the last numbers go
Swift they seem, or at least must show
One final note is struck, in quiet acceptance,
And then descends a final silence.

Wild applause, tumultuous, without pause
As men are wooed and women stirred,
Even the plants without, more yet the birds
As silence breaks, and drowns in cause,

And one by one they leave – ah, they linger so,
In hopes of hearing more, before they go-
And then the last does depart;
Only silence remain; there is music in its heart…

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