George Borrow

(1803-1881 / England)

The Broken Harp - Poem by George Borrow

O thou, who, ’mid the forest trees,
With thy harmonious trembling strain,
Could’st change at once to soothing ease,
My love-sick bosom’s cruel pain:
Thou droop’st in dreary silence now,
With shiver’d frame, and broken string,
While here, unhelp’d, beneath the bough
I sit, and feebly strive to sing.

The moon no more illumes the ground;
In night and vapour dies my lay;
For with thy sweet and melting sound
Fled, all at once, her silver ray:
O soon, O soon, shall this sad heart,
Which beats so low, and bleeds so free,
O’ercome by its fell load of smart,
Be broke, O ruin’d harp, like thee!


Comments about The Broken Harp by George Borrow

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Wednesday, October 13, 2010



[Report Error]