When I go to a bar, I don't go looking for a girl who knows the capital of Maine.
Musicians wrestle everywhere
by Emily Dickinson
Musicians wrestle everywhere --
All day -- among the crowded air
I hear the silver strife --
And -- walking -- long before the morn --
Such transport breaks upon the town
I think it that "New Life"!
If is not Bird -- it has no nest --
Nor "Band" -- in brass and scarlet -- drest --
Nor Tamborin -- nor Man --
It is not Hymn from pulpit read --
The "Morning Stars" the Treble led
On Time's first Afternoon!
Some -- say -- it is "the Spheres" -- at play!
Some say that bright Majority
Of vanished Dames -- and Men!
Some -- think it service in the place
Where we -- with late -- celestial face --
Please God -- shall Ascertain!