Music At Sullen Late Day

A sense of passion plays me,
Strung out whining
Violin that I am, haunting
Like distant slow and disturbing
Oboe-low and dying-
The tinkling, stepping ivory
Dances in teasing
And flatters me lively
Like the fluttering flute
That I am...then pausing

To the clouded grey and cooling
Autumn, most assuring,
And fit quite well assuming
A sullen match with music-