MY skies were blue, and my sun was bright, And, with fingers tender and strong and light, He woke up the music that slept before -- Echoing, echoing evermore! By-and-by, my skies grew grey; -- No master-touch on the harp-strings lay, -- Dead silence cradled the notes divine: His soul had wander'd away from mine. Idly, o'er strange harps swept his hand, Seeking for music more wild and grand. He wearied at last of his fruitless quest, And he came again to my harp for rest. But the dust lay thick on the golden wires, And they would not thrill to the old desires. The chords, so broken and jarred with pain, Could never be tender and sweet again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SACRIFICE by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE BURNING OF THE TEMPLE by ISAAC ROSENBERG A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING by JOHN SUCKLING GOLDEN GLOW by ABUL HASAN OF SEVILLE SHE BEGINING TO STUDY PHISICK ... FALLS INTO A DEGRESSION ON ANATOMY by JANE BARKER THE COMBAT, BETWEENE CONSCIENCE AND COVETOUSNESSE by RICHARD BARNFIELD |