Classic Poem

My note is highest of them all,
— — And uppermost along the choir
With tremors of my treble I call
— — The mist of stars to point their fire,
While nevermore my echoes fall
Tho' silence hath an interval
— — For love of order on the lyre.

I am the Lady of the Scale;
— — For all that moveth music is . . .
...
The reasons of my note prevail
— — Thro' pause and change of melodies;
And singing down the endless gale
I do command the fiery trail.

Howe'er, my song is not of me.
— — The sphere and circuit of each star
Flashes that . . . their degree,
— — And storm their light with swell of war.
The dragons of the auroral sea
Taking their pleasure to be free
— — Are yet divine and regular.