Classic Poem

Lady , sing no more!
Science all is vain,
Till the heart be touched, lady,
And give forth its pain.

'Tis a living lyre,
Fed by air and sun,
O'er whose witching wire, lady,
Faery fingers run.

Pity comes in tears,
From her home above,
Hope, and sometimes Fear, lady,
And the wizard, — Love!

Each doth search the heart,
To its inmost springs,
And when they depart, lady,
Then the Spirit sings!