In gilded halls where shadows dance,
Notes of old begin their trance,
A cello’s whisper, a violin’s cry,
Underneath a starlit sky.

A maestro’s wand, a graceful sway,
Conducts the night, turns dark to day,
Each stroke a tale, each pause a breath,
Music defies even death.

Harpsichord’s timeless serenade,
Echoes through the grand arcade,
A fugue, a waltz, a minuet,
Memories that we shan’t forget.

Through centuries the chords remain,
An endless, sweet, enduring strain,
Classical whispers, forever dear,
In every heart, they persevere.