Moving from left to left, the light
Is heavy on the Dome, and coarse
One small lunette turns it aside
And blankly stares off to the side
Like a big white old wall-eyed horse

On the east steps the Air Force Band
In uniforms of Air Force blue
Is playing hard and loud, but - queer -
The music doesn't quite come through

It comes in snatches, dim then keen
Then mute, and yet there is no breeze
The giant trees stand in between
I think the trees must intervene

Catching the music in their leaves
Like gold-dust, till each big leaf sags
Unceasingly the little flags
Feed their limp stripes into the air
And the band's efforts vanish there

Great shades, edge over
Give the music room
The gathered brasses want to bo
Boom - boom