Music In the Well

The King swore his end By kingly power sealed by his signet. For the blind harpist Played down the joyful cheers Into sorrowful tears. Lords sobbed like lads While he sang without words. The queen's soul ran out like a river Gushing through her eyes. Cats shivered. Groanings reached to the darkenning skies. He sang of all that is of men. He told of worlds and empires broken. He told of the silence of the grave Of both the cowards and the brave. The poets that knew the voice Bowed before him as to a disguised lord For a wit unveiled on the tomb of words. Nobles were drunk more from tears Than red wine. There were the Scots, Spaniards and Egyptians. There were some from Ethiopia and those from the Rhine. He bled on the harp. With dirge; a rapier mercilessly sharp. "...his music has offended the gods He must be fed to the maggots! Take him to the well of Durich Where the bones of the wizards of Endora must teach..." Unrepentent with adour for his king - He begged not for his life or nothing. His pleas went for his harp that wrought the divine spell. To go down with him into the well. For him, painless would be death's bitter stings. For he had wings with music. Cherubs taught him the mystries of the strings. Known by God a saint; by men a blind harpist. He sang in the well Till life faded like a misty tale. His harp played on Till dust became of the throne.