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Arianna Mar 9
String the harp, O Bard!
The red threads of Fate, having fallen to thy hands,
Raise the dead in song.

Unnamed names become immortal at thy touch,
Fragmented voices fill the graveyards with veiled polyphonies
Etched between the ridges of fingers deft,
Faultless, bounding down the scales
Before flying again to their heights.

Oracle of the great halls,
The words of Muses, gods, and poets alike
Fall on ears deafened with wine and revelry,
Heedless, though one day they too
Shall wail beneath thy fingers.
"Black Horse: Mongolian Traditional Music" album: https://youtu.be/JUEeVnzLzLc

Also:

Peire Vidal - "S'ieu fos en cort"

Claude Marti - "L'Agonie du Languedoc" album

— The End —