You must understand that I Am not the melody. Nor do I step deep with those Bass-Burgundy voices; nor Have I got the soaring cadences of solo. I am the voice internal— the third-the seventh-the 6/4, In the harmony. When you, vested with passion, Invert my order, with feet foremost, I note your displeasure with the ape's Cake-walk. But I am not the maypole Around which you wish to dance your antic Paravent glissades, I too am a ribbon, And twine with your patterns, pleached In this stately, maddened quickstep sarabande.
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