IN olive leaves a lyre hung Where whispered winds in every dawn, And gently with the winds it swung, And sang of sun-splashed fragrant things. A few untroubled dawns, and then The strings lay sodden in the grass. For all time lost to those few men That, passing by, had heard its songs. But still to dawns the lyre sings, Half hidden in the olive leaves, Of some transplanted tree that springs, From orchard-sod by Acheron. And still, sad little winds come soft From vigils o'er the fields of Dis, To murmur those dead songs that oft By dear familiar ways were sung. This passing light strikes through the leaves On those that flutter from the years, And lo! 'tis only wind that grieves. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COLUMBUS AND THE MAYFLOWER by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES VIRGINIA - THE WEST by WALT WHITMAN ON HEARING THAT THE STUDENTS OF OUR NEW UNIVERSITY JOINED AGITATION .. by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE CHILD IN A GARDEN by MARIA ABDY THORWALDSEN by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |