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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  Alice Corbin

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Music

Alice Corbin

  • The ancient songs
  • Pass deathward mournfully.
  • R. A.

  • THE OLD songs

    Die.

    Yes, the old songs die.

    Cold lips that sang them,

    Cold lips that sang them—

    The old songs die,

    And the lips that sang them

    Are only a pinch of dust.

    I saw in Pamplona

    In a musty museum—

    I saw in Pamplona

    In a buff-colored museum—

    I saw in Pamplona

    A memorial

    Of the dead violinist;

    I saw in Pamplona

    A memorial

    Of Pablo Sarasate.

    Dust was inch-deep on the cases,

    Dust on the stick-pins and satins,

    Dust on the badges and orders,

    On the wreath from the oak of Guernica!

    The old songs

    Die—

    And the lips that sang them.

    Wreaths, withered and dusty,

    Cuff-buttons with royal insignia,

    These, in a musty museum,

    Are all that is left of Sarasate.