Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SOTTO VOCE, by HAROLD MARTIN BOWMAN

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SOTTO VOCE, by            
First Line: Sing we of the summer
Last Line: Thou, my mandolin.
Subject(s): Musical Instruments

SING we of the summer,
Of the old, old days,
Of the reed songs and the murmur
Of the waterways.
Let thy song be merry, ever mine be sad;
Let thy sigh be airy, even ofttimes glad;
For then comes a sadness I cannot explain,
Like the deep-plunged echo of a sea's refrain;
And it dooms the sweetness
Of her winsome ways
To the dead completeness
Of the old, old days.

Sing, Oh! then with joyance,
Thou, my mandolin;
Drown each dread annoyance
Deep, thy soul within;
Whisper ever lowly of her glad, true eyes;
Sing her name, love, slowly, thou can'st sympathize;
Teach my heart, my wilful heart, the faith of peace,
Promising her constancy with time's increase.
Bar, Oh! break the sadness
Of the doubter's sin;
Sing eternal gladness,
Thou, my mandolin.

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