TAKE here the tender harp again, O Muse! which thou hast lent to me; I wake no more the joyous strain To youthful love or social glee. Forgive the weak and sickly shell That could so ill my soul express; What most I wish'd I durst not tell, And chose my themes from idleness. Oft when I told of peace and pleasure, I mark'd the hostile sabre shine; And water, doled in scanty measure, I drank, who wont to sing of wine. Might peace, might love's auspicious fire But gild at last my closing day, Then, Goddess, then return the lyre To wake perhaps a loftier lay. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 1 by CONRAD AIKEN CAMPUS SONNET: MAY MORNING by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET A WINTER'S NIGHT by ROBERT FROST MY BOY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TEARS AND KISSES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: THE JURY DELIBERATES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |