(p. 71)

 

23.

 

“O ÚLTIMO”

 

            I SING my love, and singing, sigh,

            For pain within my love doth lie,

            That like a single jarring string

            Within my lute, doth strain and ring,

            And mar its even melody.

 

            I miss from him my meed of praise

            Who owes me love in words and ways,

            And this becomes a jarring string

            Within my lute, –– so small a thing

            Doth mar the music of my days.

 

            What then, my heart? O by-and-by,

            Both song and love shall wholly die;

            For, lute! thy voice is all unsweet,

            And love! in vain thy pulses beat,

            Be hushed, be still eternally!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_________________________________________________

JOSEPH MASTERS AND SON, PRINTERS, ALDERSGATE STREET.

 

 

 

 

6 FE67

 

 

 

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