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|A Shattered Lute|
I touched the heart that loved me as a player|
Touches a lyre. Content with my poor skill,
No touch save mine knew my beloved (and still
I thought at times: Is there no sweet lost air
Old loves could wake in him, I cannot share?).|
O he alone, alone could so fulfil
My thoughts in sound to the measure of my will.
He is gone, and silence takes me unaware.
The songs I knew not he resumes, set free|
From my constraining love, alas for me!
His part in our tune goes with him; my part
Is locked in me for ever; I stand as mute|
As one with vigorous music in his heart
Whose fingers stray upon a shattered lute.
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Lane Core Jr. (email@example.com)
Created April 11, 2001; not revised.