Ah! how to tune the vibrant strings
to weep such darksome woe?
no more will winds from Hellicon
upon my sweet lyre blow.
Until the very death of time
my dirge with tears can sound,
but still a note it could not sing
of grief with which I'm bound.
And yet there is no twang of lyre,
no note as swift as smoke,
that could attempt to catch a whisp
of sorrow's fleeting cloak.
Ah! what are all the beats to me
who gather where I sing,
and what is it to me that doves
white lilies to me bring?
What care I that the tiger weeps
against nature's decree,
and what is gained by sighing trees
or rain flooding the sea?
Ah! how to tune the vibrant strings
to weep such darksome woe?
and how to fall before such grief
that slain, does only grow?
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Submission Name: Lament of Orpheus
