For Lord Byron

O, celestial music,

Ignite this stagnant air;

The silks of sound, now woven,

A dance of wildfire fair.

The calls of countless instruments

and phantasmal tongues, your gift;

And in this stream of splendour,

you heal our hearts their rift.

For a painter may bleed on canvas

and a sculptor meld flesh and stone,

but your maker gave their heart to you,

their pulse to angelic tone.

And so, this song of heavens,

let it play, I say, let it play;

Let its colours trace divinity

and spark a soul from clay.