Wherefore, unlaurell'd Boy, <br />Whom the contemptuous Muse will not inspire, <br />With a sad kind of joy <br />Still sing'st thou to thy solitary lyre? <br /> <br />The melancholy winds <br />Pour through unnumber'd reeds their idle woes, <br />And every Naiad finds <br />A stream to weep her sorrow as it flows. <br /> <br />Her sighs unto the air <br />The Wood-maid's native oak doth broadly tell, <br />And Echo's fond despair <br />Intelligible rocks re-syllable. <br /> <br />Wherefore then should not I, <br />Albeit no haughty Muse my heart inspire, <br />Fated of grief to die, <br />Impart it to my solitary lyre?<br /><br />George Darley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-solitary-lyre/
