LIKE a worn wind-harp on a barren lea, Unstirred by subtle breathings of the sea, Though sweet south-breezes swell the floodtide's flow, The lyric power in this worn heart of mine Droops in the twilight of life's wan decline, While the loosed chords of song grown lax and low, Are dumb to all the heavenly airs that blow! Only, sometimes along each shattered string I hear the ghost of Memory murmuring Old strains, as half in sadness half in scorn, So faint, so far, they scarcely pass the bound 'Twixt sullen silence and ethereal sound, -- Mere wraiths of murmurous tone, that die forlorn Ere yet we deem those faltering notes are born! So, smitten chords, sink, wane, and pass away! Yet have ye made soft music in your day On many a sea-swept strand or breezy lawn. Once more I hear that yearning music rise; Once more I see deep tears in tender eyes; And all my soul melts in me, fondly drawn Back to youth's love and youth's Arcadian dawn! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUTH'S IMMORTALITY by GEORGE SANTAYANA HER LETTER by FRANCIS BRET HARTE LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH CURE FOR AFFLICTIONS by ARCHILOCHUS STANZAS IN THE MEMORY OF EDWARD QUILLINAN, ESQ. by MATTHEW ARNOLD ARMISTICE DAY by ZELMA DUNNING BOWEN |