Hushed is the lyre — the hand that swept The low and pensive wires, Robb'd of its cunning, from the task retires. Yes — it is still — the lyre is still; The spirit which its slumbers broke Hath pass'd away, — and that weak hand that woke Its forest melodies hath lost its skill. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HE'D BE NOTHING BUT HIS VIOLIN by MARY KYLE DALLAS THE COLORED SOLDIERS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE CANDLE INDOORS by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS TO MADAME DE SEVIGNE by MATHIEU DE MONTREUIL HOME THOUGHTS FROM FRANCE by ISAAC ROSENBERG A TEAMSTER'S FAREWELL by CARL SANDBURG |