I cannot pipe as I was wont to do, Broke is my Reed, hoarse is my singing too: My wearied Oat Ile hang upon the Tree, And give it to the Silvan Deitie. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE INDIAN WEED by RALPH ERSKINE AMORETTI: 75 by EDMUND SPENSER THE SORROWS OF WERTHER by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY THREE PORTRAITS by GAMALIEL BRADFORD THE DEATH OF SCHILLER by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |