Verse > William Wordsworth > Complete Poetical Works
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"WHY, MINSTREL, THESE UNTUNEFUL MURMURINGS"

          "WHY, Minstrel, these untuneful murmurings--
          Dull, flagging notes that with each other jar?"
          "Think, gentle Lady, of a Harp so far
          From its own country, and forgive the strings."
          A simple answer! but even so forth springs,
          From the Castalian fountain of the heart,
          The Poetry of Life, and all 'that' Art
          Divine of words quickening insensate things.
          From the submissive necks of guiltless men
          Stretched on the block, the glittering axe recoils;         10
          Sun, moon, and stars, all struggle in the toils
          Of mortal sympathy; what wonder then
          That the poor Harp distempered music yields
          To its sad Lord, far from his native fields?
                                                              1827.


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