Poems (Botta)/Lines

by Anne Lynch Botta

Layout 2

 

LINES.

Sing me that song again,
 That wild, impassioned lay;
The tumult of my throbbing brain
 Thy voice shall charm away.

Pour that harmonious flood
 Upon my thirsting ear;
’Twill cool the fever of my blood
 Those silvery notes to hear.

Sing me that mournful song,
 That song of love and woe,
That these full fountains, closed so long,
 Once more may overflow.

And while those gentle strings
 Thy fairy hand sweeps o’er,
Upon thy music’s trembling wings
 My fainting soul shall soar.