[Intro: Edgar Allen Poe]
It is how poetry has indefinite sensations
To which end, music, is an essential
Since the comprehension of sweet sound
Is our most indefinite conception
Music, when combined with a pleasurable idea, is poetry
Music, without the idea, is simply music
Without music, or an intriguing idea
Color becomes pallor
Man, becomes carcass
Home, becomes catacomb
And the dead, are but for a moment
Motionless