A SWEET lute pined in a palace, And heard the slow years roll, And it dreamed of the mighty musician, Who alone drew forth its soul. It abode mid splendour and glory, Mid stately and gracious things, But afar were the magic fingers, Beloved of the magic strings. And the great sun looked on its pining, And the calm moon gazed on its pain, And they left it to dream of its hero And be wooed by the world in vain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE IDAHO EGG WOMAN by KAREN SWENSON THE TASK: BOOK 4. THE WINTER EVENING by WILLIAM COWPER RESURRECTION, IMPERFECT by JOHN DONNE THE NEW TIMON AND THE POETS by ALFRED TENNYSON PERFECT WOMAN by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE GODODDIN: CONAN by ANEIRIN SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 43. ONE CHANCE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) SONNET: 19 by RICHARD BARNFIELD FRAGMENTS OF A POEM ON THE EXCELLENCE OF CHRISTIANITY by JAMES HAY BEATTIE |