Classic Poem

He was a master of the vocal loom,
And ever held us
In the web of golden sound
He wove.
Whether he sang the rôle
Of hero, monarch, poet, knave or clown,
To us his willing captives,
Enmeshed
Within the magic circle of his voice,
He was the singing lord of Italy,
The glowing peak of flaming lyric art,
Stupendous as his own Vesuvius!