Poem by Alice Meynell

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.

1. The Spring to the Summer
2. The Launch
3. The Joyous Wanderer
4. The Two Shakespeare Tercentenaries
5. The Two Questions

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