THEY both were hush'd, the voice, the chords, - I heard but once that witching lay; And few the notes, and few the words, My spell-bound memory brought away; Traces, remember'd here and there, Like echoes of some broken strain; Links of a sweetness lost in air, That nothing now could join again. - Ev'n these, too, ere the morning, fled; And, though the charm still linger'd on, That o'er each sense her song had shed, The song itself was faded, gone; Gone, like the thoughts that once were ours, On summer days, ere youth had set; Thoughts bright, we know, as summer flowers, Though what they were, we now forget. In vain, with hints from other strains, I woo'd this truant air to come - As birds are taught, on eastern plains, To lure their wilder kindred home. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON CATULLUS by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE MENAGERIE by WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY A DEDICATION by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE SEVEN OLD MEN; TO VICTOR HUGO by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE FRAGMENT by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: MORNING AND MEETING by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |