WHEN I remember I am nigh to weep: How he would hold the flute unto my lip, And, smiling, set me level with his heart, Swearing I beat him at his own smooth art. 'Twas he who taught my faltering lip to draw Sweet breath unbrokenly and without flaw Of suavest melody; my hands unskilled By his deft hands over the stops were drilled; 'Twas thus I learnt, though still with blundering heed, To close the gaps upon the sounding reed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHRISTMAS CAROL by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR FRINGED GENTIANS by AMY LOWELL DOOMSDAY: TREASURES IN HEAVEN by WILLIAM ALEXANDER (1567-1640) STAGE SETTING KANSAS by BERNICE GIBBS ANDERSON SOLUTION OF THE CHARADE IN THE MUSEUM FOR OCTOBER by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD HUMAN PLEASURE OR PAIN by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS |