Pebbles and Shells (Hawkes collection)/The Broken Harp
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THE BROKEN HARP
My golden harp lay broken on the floor,
My shattered hopes among its parted strings—
Ah who can know the joy of him who sings,
Or grief of him whose heart will sing no more,
'Twas not for me to add unto the store
Of golden thoughts in sweet pathetic rhyme
That loftly bards had given to their time—
Not e'en one thought, one little maxim more;
But I had lived to sing a noble strain
That thought let fall from off a burning pen
Might raise the souls and touch the lives of men.
Long years rolled by, the harp ne'er spoke again,
But love still labored on through grief and wrong
And made one life a sweet immortal song.
My shattered hopes among its parted strings—
Ah who can know the joy of him who sings,
Or grief of him whose heart will sing no more,
'Twas not for me to add unto the store
Of golden thoughts in sweet pathetic rhyme
That loftly bards had given to their time—
Not e'en one thought, one little maxim more;
But I had lived to sing a noble strain
That thought let fall from off a burning pen
Might raise the souls and touch the lives of men.
Long years rolled by, the harp ne'er spoke again,
But love still labored on through grief and wrong
And made one life a sweet immortal song.