These taut strings strung in a chord teach me [Truth].
Their sound still teaches me, though taught before.
The notes linger in my mind more and more,
Forsooth! In truth! I know not how, forsooth!
Strange! The rhythmic rhymes send a reason when,
They each exist a part of passing time,
Yet heard with all else art all art sublime:
Alas, memory and want meet slyly then!
The notes slide by me, presently perceived,
Ne’er to be, to be, be so near again.
Always, always replacing what had been
Away, away they go, yet still received.
These notes now gone, sounded and so sound still—
They resonate [Truth!] with our searching will.
