Walter Savage Landor (1775–1864)

MANY love music but for music’s sake,

Many because her touches can awake

Thoughts that repose within the breast half-dead,

And rise to follow where she loves to lead.

What various feelings come from days gone by!

What tears from far-off sources dim the eye!

Few, when light fingers with sweet voices play

And melodies swell, pause, and melt away,

Mind how at every touch, at every tone,

A spark of life hath glisten’d and hath gone.