And sought beneath the withered flowers a rest within the tomb;
’Twas then I bade the spell dissolve that chained my soul so long,
And sighed a trembling, sad farewell to all entrancing song;
And though I may not weep that I forsook sweet poesy’s train,
A foolish boy—I sometimes wish I was her child again!
When gentle ones like thee invoke, then, then I feel how dear
The boon I madly forfeited, nor gave one farewell tear;
The gift of song, oh! hallowed gift! Song, bright, entrancing, sweet!
Had I again its rosy wreath I’d fling it at thy feet!
’Tis gone, ’tis gone! I may no more its thrilling impulse feel,