Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, QUATORZAINS: 9. TO MY LYRE, by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES


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QUATORZAINS: 9. TO MY LYRE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: My lyre! Thou art the bower of my senses
Last Line: Till silence comes and smothers her pert jars.
Subject(s): Harps; Musical Instruments; Lyres


MY Lyre! thou art the bower of my senses,
Where they may sleep in tuneful visions bound;
These trembling chords shall be their breeze-kissed fences,
Which are with music's tendrils warmly wound,
As with some creeping shrub, which sweets dispenses
And on each quivering stalk blossoms a sound.
My lyre! thou art the barred prison grate
Where shackled melody a bond-maid sleeps,
And taunting breezes as her torturers wait:
With radiant joy the hapless prisoner peeps
And sings delight, with freedom's hope elate,
When some fair hand upon the surface sweeps;
And still she beats against the prison bars,
Till silence comes and smothers her pert jars.





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