The Solitary Lyre
Wherefore, unlaurell'd Boy,
Whom the contemptuous Muse will not inspire,
With a sad kind of joy
Still sing'st thou to thy solitary lyre?
The melancholy winds
Pour through unnumber'd reeds their idle woes,
And every Naiad finds
A stream to weep her sorrow as it flows.
Her sighs unto the air
The Wood-maid's native oak doth broadly tell,
And Echo's fond despair
Intelligible rocks re-syllable.
Wherefore then should not I,
Albeit no haughty Muse my heart inspire,
Fated of grief to die,
Impart it to my solitary lyre?
George Darley's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Solitary Lyre by George Darley )
- The fingers which bath the children!, Dr.V.K. Kanniappan
- The shirt which we did not buy, Palas Kumar Ray
- Grief (Naani Poetry), Jesus James Llorico
- At Dannemora Prison, Richard Provencher
- INNOCENT PRISIONER, Enoch Owusu Gyamfi
- Watchman, Pijush Biswas
- Veni, Vidi, Vici. Okay?, Dylan Attard
- We are merely onlookers anytime, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- We are merely onlookers, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Time is Change, Taqueia Brown
Poem of the Day
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
- Heather Burns
- Philip Booth
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)