Classic Poem

Beside her in the dark the chime
Of ratcheted revolving time
Repeating its repeated beat
Builds complicated incomplete
Sonatas in his listening brain,
Phrase upon phrase, till the refrain
Resolves into the tick and tock
Of seconds scissored by the clock.

He thinks he has composed his dream
Of love upon as slight a theme,
And all the arduous obscure
Perfections of his overture,
Unravelled part from varied part,
Were but the drumming of his heart.

But still the clacking clockwork spins
Music of marvellous violins.