In sleepless nights my sad forgotten lute <br />Breathes with low strains of broken melody, <br />Under my touch long, long had it been mute, <br />But now it sings of its own fantasy. <br />Thou hadst a spirit then that was not mine, <br />Whence came it, Lute—by whom was't to thee given? <br />I knew not that an adverse will of thine <br />Against my will to make thee sing, had striven. <br />Now while I lie and watch the solemn flight <br />Of the fair stars that wait upon the night, <br />Whose are the songs thou murmurest in my ears, <br />That make my wakeful eyes brim o'er with tears?<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sleepless-nights-38/
