TO HIS FRIEND, ON THE UNTUNABLE TIMES.
by Robert Herrick
PLAY I could once ; but, gentle friend, you see
My harp hung up here on the willow tree.
Sing I could once : and bravely too inspire
With luscious numbers my melodious lyre.
Draw I could once, although not stocks or stones,
Amphion-like, men made of flesh and bones,
Whither I would ; but ah ! I know not how,
I feel in me this transmutation now.
Grief, my dear friend, has first my harp unstrung,
Wither'd my hand, and palsy-struck my tongue.
Herrick, Robert. Works of Robert Herrick. vol I.
Alfred Pollard, ed.
London, Lawrence & Bullen, 1891. 103.