Touch not the harp of Jesse's son, Those strains may not by thee be won, O Master of the lyre; Touch not the Mount whose thunders dread Astonished Israel heard, and fled In smoke involved and fire. In vain thy infant lips the Muse Bathed largely in Castalian dews; Those springs to thee are closed Which welling out o'er pastures green With living waters drest the scene Where Judah's king reposed. Forbear -- till time shall bring the hour Thy softened heart shall feel a power To touch thy lips with fire, And all be there of earth or heaven | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WINTERTIME by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON PERFECT WOMAN by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH BRUCE CONSULTS HIS MEN by JOHN BARBOUR FALLING STARS by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER TWO VOICES by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN FEMININE TALK by MAXWELL BODENHEIM |