Musical tableau

On the lawns, the entire fantasy is implicit in the majesty and humor of the music— as the cellist strokes her vibrating strings, fifes, breathless; trombones, penetrating, the sweating bourgeois, overly perfumed, fancy themselves to be wealthy noblemen, their women made up in powders and lace, and me, the poet in the bushes, imagining harmonies above the ankles of the daughters.