How shall I give thee what was never mine? I have no voice, no hope beneath the sky; All sound and silence are a melody Played on my heartstrings by some touch of thine. Thine is the glory of my brave design, The ardour, the compulsion, and the cry; Mine but the hoarseness and the unbidden sigh Muffling the silver music of the line. If aught of rapture from the feeble string Escape and swell and tremble as I sing, Think what the might of loveliness must be, That from the dust could raise a living thing, And from the cold heart of a doubter wring This book of verses, writ in love of thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE MEMORY OF INEZ MILHOLLAND by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE VIKING GRAVE AT LADBY by KAREN SWENSON JOHANNES AGRICOLA IN MEDITATION by ROBERT BROWNING THE INCOGNITA OF RAPHAEL by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER THE TUFT OF FLOWERS by ROBERT FROST PATIENCE by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE |