Xciii

And so, I somehow-nohow played The whole o' the pretty piece; and then ... whatever weighed My eyes down, furled the films about my wits? suppose, The morning-bath,--the sweet monotony of those Three keys, flat, flat and flat, never a sharp at all,-- Or else the brain's fatigue, forced even here to fall Into the same old track, and recognize the shift From old to new, and back to old again, and,--swift Or slow, no matter,--still the certainty of change, Conviction we shall find the false, where'er we range, In art no less than nature: or what if wrist were numb, And over-tense the muscle, abductor of the thumb, Taxed by those tenths' and twelfths' unconscionable stretch? Howe'er it came to pass, I soon was far to fetch-- Gone off in company with Music!