AH, deem not when thy minstrel tunes
His harp to hours and glories vanished,
His star of stars, his moon of moons,
Can ever from his heart be banish'd.
Each tune he wakes, each note that takes
And charms the heart, Love's arrow
woundeth,
But flows from strings she only rings,
And from a Deep, she only soundeth.
Joseph Skipsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-minstrel-3/
