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.