The Silenced Singer

The nest is built, the song hath ceased:
The minstrel joineth in the feast,
So singeth not. The poet's verse,
Crippled by Hymen's household curse,
Follows no more its hungry quest.
Well if Love's feathers line the nest.

Yet blame not that beside the fire
Love hangeth up his unstrung lyre!
How sing of hope when Hope hath fled,
Joy whispering lip to lip instead?
Or how repeat the tuneful moan
When the Obdurate's all my own?

Love, like the lark, while soaring sings:
Wouldst have him spread again his wings?
What careth he for higher skies
Who on the heart of harvest lies,
And finds both sun and firmament
Closed in the round of his content?