O Head Full of Blood and Wounds
Before his fourteenth year the boy wrote down
A melody like Bach’s “O Haupt voll Blut
Und Wunden,” but the sixth note did not frown.
Instead it mounted up. It took a route
More positive. Prophetic nearly, one
Might say, when looking at his future heights.
“Real beauty and much tender charm” this son
Of Bach put in this “first peice.”* He made flights
From greatness like an eaglet fledgling raised
Up by the grandeur of the past behind.
An early critic found his strengths and praised
The “harmonies and cadences,” a mind
Beyond his age. She felt them strike inside
Her head, not wounds, but his predictive stride.
*sic