Classic Poem

Now , once more the moon,
That musician enchanting,
Bending low her lovely head
Over a keyboard magnetic,
Manipulates with shining fingers
Her harpsichord—the river.

Her faithful audience, the trees,
Inveterate music lovers
Crowded into stalls and galleries,
Listen solemnly, critically,
Or entrancedly:
Interrupting, occasionally,
With sudden bursts
Of rustling applause.