On The Communication Of Music

Music, springing as if from a long-forgotten long-buried font
   Loud clear crystal, tripping sprightly past bits of daylight
A rush, the mind crying for more, not wishing the song to ever end
   Though end it does, with laughter rolling forth, a cry of hurrah on the lips

Or misty and dark, pulling to one side and whispering "slowly, slowly"
   A soft breath, leaning back on a summer's eve with eyes closed
A soft smile, an extended hand, or is it a tender thought touching
   With tears standing in the eyes long after the last strain passes

Or somber and thoughtful, hushing wanton revelry
   Telling of what has been, what may be, what has passed already
Lost loves and forgotten wars and sorrows still fresh to the listening ear
   Reminding with deep note and structure to heed past action

No language for the transmission of words and ideas
   Just chords and sensations and the thrill of ultimate inclusion
Knowing this to be joyful, that melancholy, this other a cry to arms
   With nothing but a melody and a tempo to translate thoughts