Hushed is the lyre — the hand that swept The low and pensive wires, Robb'd of its cunning, from the task retires. Yes — it is still — the lyre is still; The spirit which its slumbers broke Hath pass'd away, — and that weak hand that woke Its forest melodies hath lost its skill. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN I'M KILLED by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES TO JOSIAH ROYCE by BRENT DOW ALLINSON AUTUMN by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE SINGERS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) TWILIGHT ON THE DESERT by ETHEL FRANCES BARNARD ONCE WE PLAYED by MATHILDE BLIND |