Classic Poem

Here is the Harp of stars which was so strong
It shook the air and earth with godlike dreams.
Heroes in mirth assembled to its themes.
Its bright strings glittered with the fires of song.
Then richly every planetary stone
With number shone as if with bronze or gilt
For Number is the god's invisible throne.
With music struck from gold Great Thebes was built.
Since music moves and governeth all things
Let us reflect before the golden lyre.
Here lies the will that in its coined strings
Confoundeth Kings and altereth desire.
Here stretched in pain along the broken wire
The God still breathes creative numberings.