Its little place in the sun.
For the old Italian master might have written that sonata
With the devastated Belgium of these days in mind.
First, streaming from beneath the Belgian's sentient bow,
The music told of peace and common things,
With some bickering, some trivialities,
But much melody and deep harmony underneath.
The third movement, affetuoso, awoke to ruin—
To ruin too sudden and complete.
Too bloody and bestial and cruel