1. Call me no more, As heretofore, The musick of a Feast; Since now (alas) The mirth, that was In me, is dead or ceast. 2. Before I went To banishment Into the loathed West; I co'd rehearse A Lyrick verse, And speak it with the best. But time (Ai me) Has laid, I see My Organ fast asleep; And turn'd my voice Into the noise Of those that sit and weep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RICHARD BOOTH TO HIS SON JUNIUS BRUTUS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MACDONALD'S RAID - A.D. 1780 by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE THE BANNER OF THE JEW by EMMA LAZARUS THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 7. THEY MEET AGAIN by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS A SONNET. ON THE PICTURE OF CAVALIER GUARINI PAINTED BY BORGIANNI by PHILIP AYRES THE OPTIMIST AND THE PESSIMIST; A DIALOGUE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |