Classic Poem

For Antonio Scotti

Why wait until he sings for us no more,
?To carve his praise on music's scroll of fame?
?Singer and player—conjurer, his name;
Whose master wand unlocks art's magic door,
And leads us wistful from the painted scene
?Across the rainbow trail of dim romance,
?To silver dells where knights and ladies dance,
And where the dreams of poets bloom serene.
What is your wizardry to sing so well,
?When gay Marcello paints or Scarpia leers!
Your voice of bronze is like an ancient bell,
?That wakes warm memories of lilac years,
And we pause, ravished in your vocal spell,
?Drunk with delight or stricken dumb with tears!