Psycholophon

Twine then the rays  
 Round her soft Theban tissues.  
All will be as She says,  
 When the 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 make the song, not sense,  
 Thus I inhibit!