LEND me the lyre again, The long forsaken! One tone it must retain, One song of all the store I gave to it of yore Sleeps there to waken. Wreathe me the lyre again! Moonflowers and sorrel Gather by stream and plain, Weaving a thousand flowers Under the wild-rose bowers, But not the laurel. Give me the lyre again! As Heaven that sent it Sucks from the earth her rain, So from the trembling lyre My soul shall drink the fire That once she lent it. |