Touch not the harp of Jesse's son, Those strains may not by thee be won, O Master of the lyre; Touch not the Mount whose thunders dread Astonished Israel heard, and fled In smoke involved and fire. In vain thy infant lips the Muse Bathed largely in Castalian dews; Those springs to thee are closed Which welling out o'er pastures green With living waters drest the scene Where Judah's king reposed. Forbear -- till time shall bring the hour Thy softened heart shall feel a power To touch thy lips with fire, And all be there of earth or heaven | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWO IN THE CAMPAGNA by ROBERT BROWNING FIRST BOOK OF AIRS: 20. A HAPPY MARRIAGE by THOMAS CAMPION DENIAL [OR, DENIALL] by GEORGE HERBERT THE BRACELET: TO JULIA by ROBERT HERRICK GLOTTO'S TOWER by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW POEMS ON THE SLAVE TRADE: 6 by ROBERT SOUTHEY THE LAST CAESAR, 1851-1870 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |