Farewell to Poesy

Sweet Poesy, why art thou dumb!

I loved thee as my captive bird,

That sang me songs when spring was gone,

And birds of freedom were not heard;

Nor dreamt thou wouldst turn false and cold

When needed most, by men grown old.

Sweet Poesy, why art thou dumb!

I fear thy singing days are done;

The poet in my soul is dying,

And every charm in life is gone;

In vain birds scold and flowers do plead-

The poet dies, his heart doth bleed.