Poems (Eckley)/The Broken Lute
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HE leaves sang on in sweet accord,
Strung lightly to the breeze,
Playing their idle fantasies
In the old chesnut trees.
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.
Full was the air of melody,
Of harmony, of sound
From wood, from leaf, from running stream,
But from the lute,—the ground
Of harmony, of sound
From wood, from leaf, from running stream,
But from the lute,—the ground
There came no voice to answer me,
I looked—alas! to find
A snake coiled up—like the lute I flung
This thought to the passing wind.
I looked—alas! to find
A snake coiled up—like the lute I flung
This thought to the passing wind.
Lucca, 1859.