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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SONNET: TO HIS LUTE, by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: My lute, be as thou wast when thou didst grow Last Line: Like widow'd turtle still her loss complain. Alternate Author Name(s): Drummond, William Variant Title(s): Sonnet: 8 Subject(s): Lutes | |||
My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow With thy green mother in some shady grove, When immelodious winds but made thee move, And birds their ramage did on thee bestow. Since that dear Voice which did thy sounds approve, Which wont in such harmonious strains flow, Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above, What are thou but a harbinger of woe? Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more, But orphans' wailings to the fainting ear; Each stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear; For which be silent as in woods before: Or if that any hand to touch thee deign, Like widow'd turtle still her loss complain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 6. CORRINA by THOMAS CAMPION ON A LUTE FOUND IN A SARCOPHAGUS by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE THE LUTE OBEYS by THOMAS WYATT A SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE by RICHARD EDWARDS (1523-1566) THE POEMS OF COLD MOUNTAIN: 7 by HAN SHAN THE LUTE PLAYER (A WOMAN) by HAN YU FOR THE BAPTIST by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN |
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