University of Virginia Library

LXIII.

[Dull is my verse: not even thou]

Dull is my verse: not even thou
Who movest many cares away
From this lone breast and weary brow,
Canst make, as once, its fountain play;
No, nor those gentle words that now
Support my heart to hear thee say:
“The bird upon its lonely bough
Sings sweetest at the close of day.”