“Thoughts of . . . Summer half, 1865”
A piece just eight bars long is pregnant with
Vague meaning and with secrecy. A man
(Not quite) is burdened with Victorian myth
Of sex as tight as whalebone girdles can
Impose on him. On top of that he’s just a boy
At school still, stilled by regulations, “ought
And should,” and manly self-control. To toy
With music, even seriously, distraught,
He manages eight measures and no more.
The heat of summer pulses through him. He
Holds back the name he loves and tries to pour
It into music. Restraint is the key.
The signature of time is everywhere
….And evermore. Eternity is there.