In halls where chandeliers softly glow,
A symphony of time begins to flow.
Each note a whisper of the past,
A melody that forever lasts.

The violins cry in elegant grace,
Harpsichords weaving through the space.
A dance of shadows on the wall,
Capturing the era’s enchanting call.

Gentle winds through gilded halls,
Where history’s voice serenely calls.
Lutes and flutes, a sweet refrain,
Painting pictures of joy and pain.

The maestros of a bygone age,
Their stories etched on every page.
In every chord, their spirits soar,
An ode to times that are no more.