If ever in the sylvan shade <br />A song immortal we have made, <br />Come now, O lute, I prithee come, <br />Inspire a song of Latium! <br /> <br />A Lesbian first thy glories proved; <br />In arms and in repose he loved <br />To sweep thy dulcet strings, and raise <br />His voice in Love's and Liber's praise. <br />The Muses, too, and him who clings <br />To Mother Venus' apron-strings, <br />And Lycus beautiful, he sung <br />In those old days when you were young. <br /> <br />O shell, that art the ornament <br />Of Phoebus, bringing sweet content <br />To Jove, and soothing troubles all,-- <br />Come and requite me, when I call!<br /><br />Eugene Field<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-his-lute-4/
