We count the broken lyres that rest Where the sweet wailing singers slumber, But o'er their silent sister's breast The wild-flowers who will stoop to number? A few can touch the magic string, And noisy Fame is proud to win them: -- Alas for those that never sing, But die with all their music in them! Nay grieve not for the dead alone Whose song has told their hearts' sad story, -- Weep for the voiceless, who have known The cross without the crown of glory! Not where Leucadian breezes sweep O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow, But where the glistening night-dews weep On nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow. O hearts that break and give no sign Save whitening lip and fading tresses, Till Death pours out his longed-for wine Slow-dropped from Misery's crushing presses, -- If singing breath or echoing chord To every hidden pang were given, What endless melodies were poured, As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHADOW ON THE STONE by THOMAS HARDY CONTINENT'S END by ROBINSON JEFFERS FULL-CIRCLE by MAXWELL ANDERSON EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 2. MUTUAL LOVE by PHILIP AYRES AN INVENTORY OF THE FURNITURE IN DR. PRIESTLEY'S STUDY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD STANZAS SELECTED FROM THE PAINS OR MEMORY; A FRAGMENT by BERNARD BARTON PSALM 54 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |