W.N. HERBERT

A large concert pianist
with a larger hat
sat down to play Bartok,
there was silence
hardly a move
from watch or clock
with sanguine hands
a choleric face
in a melancholy disposition
with a phlegmatic glance
yet with humorous grace
the sonata went well,
even the Gaelic critics
waited for their drinks
to write their surprised review,
for them mesmerized
by a new unrecognized genius
at the midnight bell.