The Silent Lyre.

The Lyre is silent now—we listen, but in vain,1
For the rich sounds that haunted us before ;2
Many deep tones around us may remain3
This Lyre’s sweet music we may hear no more
—no more.
The rose is faded now—its scent hath pass’d away,5
And all its beauty like a dream is gone ;6
Many glad flowers to deck earth’s bosom stay,7
But none so bright as was this one — this one.8
The heart’s fond hope is o’er — its light hath
for ever,
No future hour its freshness back may bring :10
The Lyre is hush’d — the rose is dead, and never11
The heart may find again its spring—its spring.12