V.
Now Kleinfelter’s singing
Was undoubtedly splendid,
And its musical ringing
Could not easily be mended
It was soft and sweet and then it was loud
As a singing saint’s on a shining cloud;
Clear as the lark’s own morning call,
With a silvery chime like a waterfall.
So he had scarcely uttered a note,
When Hinda’s heart rose up in her throat,
Her breast felt a pang and her head felt a dizziness,
Oh, Kleinfelter’s serenade finished the business!