THE shaken sound drops down too low
For the shivered ear to go,
Or quivers up to airy high
For the grounded ear to try.
The sounds thin out along the air
Too fine for life to dare —
Fine as those balances that weigh
The ashes of decay.
High they go, and low they start,
But they never pull apart.
Up and down the octaves pour,
But they never leave a door
To let the silences crash through
And cut their line in two.
Split a sound within your throat,
You never harm the note;
Try to decree no sound at all
However gaunt and small,
And you find how free and rigid sound
Keeps its members bound;
How much more spar and steel are frail
Than the tensions of the scale.