1. Call me no more, As heretofore, The musick of a Feast; Since now (alas) The mirth, that was In me, is dead or ceast. 2. Before I went To banishment Into the loathed West; I co'd rehearse A Lyrick verse, And speak it with the best. But time (Ai me) Has laid, I see My Organ fast asleep; And turn'd my voice Into the noise Of those that sit and weep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PENDULUM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON KUBLA KHAN by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE MOTHER NATURE by EMILY DICKINSON CHAMPAGNE, 1914-1915 by ALAN SEEGER THE CHILD ALONE: 1. THE UNSEEN PLAYMATE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON POLYHYMNIA: THE YOUTH IN THE BOAT (FRAGMENT) by WILLIAM BASSE |