Alice Corbin

THE GREAT air birds go swiftly by,

Pinions of bloom and death;

And armies counter on shell-torn plains

And strive, for a little breath.

Pinnacled rockets in the gloom

Light for a little space

A gasping mouth, and a dying face

Blackened with night and doom—

As if in a little room

A sick man laid on his bed

Turned to his nurse and questioned when

Mass for his soul would be said.

Life is no larger than this,

Though thousands are slaked with lime,

Life is no larger than one man’s soul,

One man’s soul is as great as the whole,

And no times greater than Time.