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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=521196" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Music</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=521196" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">My friend went to the piano; spun the stool <br>A little higher; left his pipe to cool; <br>Picked up a fat green volume from the chest; <br>And propped it open. <br>Whitely without rest, <br>His fingers swept the keys that flashed like swords, <br>. . . And to the brute drums of barbarian hordes, <br>Roaring and thunderous and weapon-bare, <br>An army stormed the bastions of the air! <br>Dreadful with banners, fire to slay and parch, <br>Marching together as the lightnings march, <br>And swift as storm-clouds. Brazen helms and cars <br>Clanged to a fierce resurgence of old wars <br>Above the screaming horns. In state they passed, <br>Trampling and splendid on and sought the vast -- <br>Rending the darkness like a leaping knife, <br>The flame, the noble pageant of our life! <br>The burning seal that stamps man's high indenture <br>To vain attempt and most forlorn adventure; <br>Romance, and purple seas, and toppling towns, <br>And the wind's valiance crying o'er the downs; <br>That nerves the silly hand, the feeble brain, <br>From the loose net of words to deeds again <br>And to all courage! Perilous and sharp <br>The last chord shook me as wind shakes a harp! <br>. . . And my friend swung round on his stool, and from gods we were men, <br>"How pretty!" we said; and went on with our talk again.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Stephen+Vincent+Benet">Stephen Vincent Benet</a></strong></div>