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.
Soft the river rippled by me, Purling among the weedsHer prelude to the evening breeze, That play'd in the choral reeds.
