Stephen Vincent Benet
Pennsylvania / United States
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Music

Rating: 4.2

My friend went to the piano; spun the stool
A little higher; left his pipe to cool;
Picked up a fat green volume from the chest;
And propped it open.
Whitely without rest,
His fingers swept the keys that flashed like swords,
. . . And to the brute drums of barbarian hordes,
Roaring and thunderous and weapon-bare,
An army stormed the bastions of the air!
Dreadful with banners, fire to slay and parch,

Marching together as the lightnings march,
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7/24/2021 12:21:10 AM # 1.0.0.663