Scott Fray Reidsville, NC email Hear an audio version of this piece can't hear it? O Lyric Lie! O, lyric lie, thy tone defies this magic music as my own. O, distant air, so rich and rare, your call a warm resounding art. O, breathy pipes, let fall the ripe cascade of laughter to my bones; Let oaken crowned and autumn browned sisters sate my fluttr'y heart. In mused wake, instruments spake a life that mimics ecstasy, with mellow trill and 'trancing rill and sweeping, blooded, manic scale. O, livid throat, in curtained coat, veil the still soliloquy; each syllable, sung proud and full brings the score beyond the pale. In alleys green, and seldom seen, and gemmed with dewy scatterings, where dryads' combs form a leafy dome, a music rings so wilded there. And leaping high, the satyrs cry to the pounding, pounding batterings of the dancing drums, and the morning comes when the sun lets fall her hair.

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