Harpsichord

Jangling tunefully under my bed,
The sound rising up
Through the old deal floor,
Filling, persistently, my head,
With harmony

Spelled out by plucked gut and brass,
The reason of some ancient season 
Speaking not to the soul
As the Erard and Broadwood,
Not affecting, a lunar like pull
On the whole tide of emotion,
But appealing to order,
And understood by some
Instinct known to Pythagoras.

Rameau, Scarlatti, Daquin,
Handel, Bach and Couperin
Providing energy, brilliance,
Commotion, and a joyful demonstration
Of the power of rationality,
Precision, joy, vitality, glittering elegance,
Consisting of and insisting on intelligence.

https://youtu.be/m71_m_oXp0U

https://youtu.be/sImPb1RJkwI

https://youtu.be/GjuyUTiskZo

https://youtu.be/oWkChhFFunc

https://youtu.be/xTGIgbzWcmk

https://youtu.be/v5lvdFLtUxw

https://youtu.be/XbBBNCFwKrs

https://youtu.be/JyTo4Arb_uU

https://youtu.be/jB_HZN8lQwA

https://youtu.be/6X4myFuf5y4

https://youtu.be/QKcDFIMrbng

https://youtu.be/Cbi3o72AJZ4

https://youtu.be/y5xcBR8BGos

https://youtu.be/8_k9bfPrRpY

https://youtu.be/780x8Blgyyg

https://youtu.be/hiw3s1Q3g3M

https://youtu.be/m71_m_oXp0U

https://youtu.be/m71_m_oXp0U