COME sing me the song that once gilded my gloom, <br /> And the heart unsubdued till that moment subdued, <br />That with its red rose caused the rose-tree to bloom, <br /> That long year after year without blossoms had stood. <br /> <br />With thy hand on my hand, and thy cheek by my cheek, <br /> In thy wild and weird tones, be that lay again sung, <br />And the bleak world to me, shall no longer be bleak, <br /> And this heart, wrung by anguish, no longer be wrung. <br /> <br />Then over thy grace, shall thy voice throw a grace; <br /> And that image which long had its home in my breast, <br />Be robed in a splendour, no pencil could trace, <br /> And possest of a charm by no other possest. <br /> <br />Than its red, shall thy lip then a richer dye show, <br /> And with beams brighter still, shall thy hazel eyes burn; <br />And thy beauty, deep down in my spirit, shall glow, <br /> And my life to a drop of pure ecstasy turn. <br /> <br />Shall the boon then be mine? shall that music reward <br /> Thus the faith of a heart that yet leapt at its strain? <br />Ah, broken's the spell of that song I oft heard, <br /> And so—so thro' thy dark guile to me shall remain.<br /><br />Joseph Skipsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-broken-spell/
