Saul, and David Playing Before Him

Saul is shut in the palace of his silence: he must wait
On the sounds from the hands of his page, his enemy.
The arched back of the harp to him is a locked gate.
He shall not enter the garden of melody.

And the thin hands of David through the serried strings,
Bright birds through bars, departing, returning,
Flutter far, shuttle back, rapid wings,
A high flight, a wide flight, full of yearning

And leading astray
To the gate of the song. Then Saul
Heard, and with a rage like burning brands,

He hurled the javelin. And it whistled away
And lodged in the wall.
And Saul sat on his throne with empty hands.