With song upon her lips
but sings not out the song, nor knows
The maker of it, some other mouth
May be as fair as hers,
Might, in new ages, gain her worshippers
When our two dusts with Waller's shall be laid;
Siftings on siftings in oblivion,
Till change hath broken down
All things save Beauty alone.
Ezra Pound
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
T.S. Eliot
song in Brazil. The rhythms seem right for this page.
