LINA, rival of the linnet, When these lays shall reach thy hand, Please transfer them to the spinnet, Where thy friend was wont to stand. Set the diapason ringing, Ponder not the words you see, Give them utterance by thy singing, Then each leaf belongs to thee. With the life of music fill them; Cold the written verses seem, That, would Lina deign to trill them, Might be trancing as a dream. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE AUTHOR TO HER BOOK by ANNE BRADSTREET ST. JOHN'S, CAMBRIDGE; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW INLAND by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY OFF MESOLONGI by ALFRED AUSTIN THE KNITTING by MARGARET BARBER THE MARCH BEE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE WANDERER: 3. IN ENGLAND: MIDGES by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |