  RESOUND, ye strains, attuned by master-fingers, That breathe so fondly Love’s consuming fire; Some sweet and subtle as a chord that lingers, Some grave and plaintive as the heart’s desire. Like June’s gay laughter thro’ the woodlands ringing, These hymn the Present’s gladsome roundelay; As Autumn grieves when choirs have ceased their singing, Those voice their haunting burden, “Well-a-day!” Yet, past or present, who the power would banish That charms or blights, that blesses or that mars: To happy lovers, how may Love e’er vanish,— To hearts forlorn, how hallowed are his scars! |
|
