Psycholophon

[Supposed to be translated from the Old Parsee] TWINE then the rays   Round her soft Theban tissues! All will be as She says,   When that dead past reissues. Matters not what nor where,   Hark, to the moon’s dim cluster! How was her heavy hair   Lithe as a feather duster! Matters not when nor whence;   Flittertigibbet! Sound makes the song, not sense,   Thus I inhibit!