AT length thy golden hours have wing'd their flight, And drowsy death that eyelid steepeth; Thy harp, that whisper'd through each lingering night, Now mutely in oblivion sleepeth! She too, for whom that harp profusely shed The purest nectar of its numbers, She, the young spring of thy desires, has fled, And with her blest Anacreon slumbers! Farewell! thou hadst a pulse for every dart That Love could scatter from his quiver; And every woman found in thee a heart, Which thou, with all thy soul, didst give her! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I COULD TAKE by HAYDEN CARRUTH A SUMMER'S GARDEN by ROBERT FROST PEACE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SYMPHONIC STUDIES (AFTER ROBERT SCHUMANN) by EMMA LAZARUS A FOOL, A FOUL THING, A DISTRESSFUL LUNATIC by MARIANNE MOORE |