THE BROKEN LUTE."Non è tutto oro, quelle che luce."
HE leaves sang on in sweet accord,Strung lightly to the breeze,
Playing their idle fantasies
In the old chesnut trees.
Near the jessamine that hid me,
Lay a broken lute,
Half buried among the daisies—
Stringless, shattered, mute.
Lay a broken lute,
Half buried among the daisies—
Stringless, shattered, mute.
Soft the river rippled by me,
Purling among the weeds
Her prelude to the evening breeze,
That play'd in the choral reeds.
Purling among the weeds
Her prelude to the evening breeze,
That play'd in the choral reeds.
