We cherish beauty in the stars
And slivers of a new-born moon,
Collapsing far away from Mars,
Preparing reappearance soon.
The evenings trumpet fuller moons,
Each rising higher in the sky,
While Bruckner’s matchless, melting tunes
Are tracing shapes in your mind’s eye.
Dark night paints portraits of the dead;
Their beauty is too much to bear.
From music stored inside your head
Flow melodies sublime and rare.
Though all noctural glow will dim
And moon and stars will fade away,
A whispered voice, upon a whim,
Will tell the orchestra to play.