SONG

I have done, Put by the lute; Songs and singing soon are over, Soon as airy shades that hover Up above the purple clover— I have done, put by the lute. Once I sang as early thrushes Sing about the dewy bushes, Now I’m mute; I am like a weary linnet, For my throat has no song in it, I have had my singing minute. I have done, Put by the lute.