As he lolled around the square circus,
on the pavements below the city tower;
through brassy displays of gold and hocus,
a stream of sound rose above the hour.
Melodies of Bach atop undisturbed strings,
dancing and floating with the gentle breeze;
though rowdy winds the passers-by fling,
her music guards this sanctuary of peace.
Her Mozart stirred his dark oblivion,
when worldly frets were the zeals of youth;
those duets with friends — now in obsidian,
for a time long gone are his tears and ruth.
What vivacity of life her Vivaldi inspires!
Though suffer we must for a truthful art;
to the gutters and glories of life he aspires,
The Street — is life before our unseeing eyes.
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To thyself be true my friend