Alice Corbin

From “Songs from a Book of Airs”

GO touch the silent strings

That long in sleep have lain,

Music that knows no past

Or future pain.

Sing for the moment’s joy!

And when the echoes fade,

Nothing will last but the song

That your hands have made.

Nothing will last but song,

Though the music die,

And when this brain is dust,

That too will die—

And when this brain is dust,

That too will die.