Old Amergin sang,
Sang even as I
Sing to the tramcar's clang
As the world roars by.
Hammers would ring and ring
On the bright bronze spears;
How could he sing
In those dead years?
High pipes blew
Tunes of dead men --
When the first music was new
It hated a pen.
Clash of brass and treble,
Clatter of horses' feet --
Ink was the primal rebel
That fought in the primal street.
Let it be written fair,
Written for all to read,
They that murder the air
Are of Cain's black breed.
Quiet! And close the door!
Make the night deaf as a stone --
Heart, on the second floor
They've started the gramophone!
First published in The Bulletin, 3 July 1919
