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THE LYRE'S LAMENT.
219
"I have chords to lift the pæan
From the temple to the sky,
Full as the forest-unisons
When sweeping winds are high.
"And Love—for Love's lone sorrow
I have accents that might swell
Through the summer air with the rose's breath,
Or the violet's faint farewell:
"Soft—spiritual—mournful—
Sighs in each note enshrined—
But who shall call that sweetness forth?
Thou canst not, ocean-wind!
"I pass without my glory,
Forgotten I decay—
Where is the touch to give me life?
—Wild fitful wind, away!"
