AFTER A CONCERT
'Tis o'er—and where has gone the melody
That filled my soul with such supreme delight?
Have golden chords like these fled utterly
Into the still and unresponsive night?
Will they no more my drooping thoughts upstay
In days to come when dark despondence reigns?
Will they no more illumine life's dull grey,
No more bring solace for its many pains?
That filled my soul with such supreme delight?
Have golden chords like these fled utterly
Into the still and unresponsive night?
Will they no more my drooping thoughts upstay
In days to come when dark despondence reigns?
Will they no more illumine life's dull grey,
No more bring solace for its many pains?
Content thyself: two golden hours is much
To snatch from out the niggard hands of fate;
Ask not for more lest it exact for such
Of dull discouragement a double rate:
Yet to you shall a melody be known
From memory drawn: a dulcet undertone.
To snatch from out the niggard hands of fate;
Ask not for more lest it exact for such
Of dull discouragement a double rate:
Yet to you shall a melody be known
From memory drawn: a dulcet undertone.