Hark! from the pit a fearsome sound
That makes the blood run cold;
Symphonic cyclones rush around --
And the worst is yet untold.
 
No -- they unchain those dogs of war,
The wild sarrusophones,
A double-bass E-flat to roar
Whilst crunching dead men's bones.
 
The muted tuba's dismal groan
Uprising from the gloom,
And answered by the heckelphone,
Suggest the crack of doom.
 
Oh mama! Is this the earthquake zone?
What ho, there, stand from under!
Or is it the tonitruone
Just imitating thunder?
 
Nay, fear not, little one, because
Of this sublime rough-house;
'Tis modern opera by the laws
Of Master Richard Strauss.
 
Singers?  They're scarcely heard nor seen --
In yon back seat they sit;
The day of Song is past, I ween:
The orchestra is "it."