You have ask'd for a verse -- the request, In a rhymer, 't were strange to deny; But my Hippocrene was but my breast, And my feelings (its fountain) are dry. Were I now as I was, I had sung What Lawrence has pencill'd so well; But the strain would expire on my tongue, And the theme is too soft for my shell. I am ashes where once I was fire, And the bard in my bosom is dead; What I loved I now merely admire, And my heart is as grey as my head. My life is not dated by years; There are moments which act as a plough; And there is not a furrow appears But is deep in my soul as my brow. Let the young and the brilliant aspire To sing what I gaze on in vain; For Sorrow has torn from my lyre The string which was worthy the strain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FLUSH OR FAUNUS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ON THE DEATH OF MR. PURCELL by JOHN DRYDEN A CHILD'S SONG OF CHRISTMAS by MARJORIE LOWRY CHRISTIE PICKTHALL THE FROZEN GRAIL (TO PEARY AND HIS MEN) by ELSA BARKER A MORNING WALK by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |