Oh! take that airy harp from out the gale, Its troubles call from such a distant bourne, Now that the wind has wooed it to its tale Of bygone bliss, that never can return; Hark! with what dreamy sadness it is swelling! How sweet it falls, unwinding from the breeze! Disorder'd music, deep and tear-compelling, Like siren-voices pealing o'er the seas; Nay, take it not, for now my tears are stealing, But when it brake upon my mirthful hour, And spake to joy of sorrow past the healing, I shrank beneath the soft subduing power: Nay, take it not; replace it by my bower - The soul can thrill with no diviner feeling. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ILKA BLADE O' GRASS KEPS ITS AIN DRAP O' DEW by JAMES BALLANTYNE BOSTON COMMON: 1630 by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES REJECTED ADDRESSES: THE BABY'S DEBUT, BY W. W. by JAMES SMITH (1775-1839) IN MEMORY OF WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE ON DEATH OF SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY by GEORGE CRABBE |