There are strains of romance in the thrumming banjo.
The violin's note—feel it float in your ear;
And the harp makes one fancy that angels are near.
The voice of a young girl can reach to the heart;
The song of the baritone—well, it is art.
The flute and the lute in gavotte—the guitar
In soft serenade—how entrancing they are!
But to all the mad millions
Who dance at cotillons
There's naught like the clink and the clank and the crunch