Once spoken, sweet perfection cannot wane
Before the fleeting hour, nor the year;
The truth is stronger still than all the fear
Which once kept vigil over our domain.
Once felt, the spoken truth is carved at last
In virtue’s medium the truth requires:
The stone or clay perfection’s gift inspires;
The whole of this, our truth, is thus so vast.
Once heard, such music cannot be denied,
For, doing so would be a travesty,
And even if such truth is made to hide,
The trueness of it speaks in majesty.
Once touched, I knew the many years would melt,
So powerless to curb the art we felt.