(To A. T. Schumann)
IN dreams I crossed a barren land, | |
| A land of ruin, far away; | |
| Around me hung on every hand | |
| A deathful stillness of decay; | |
| And silent, as in bleak dismay | 5 |
| That song should thus forsaken be, | |
| On that forgotten ground there lay | |
| The broken flutes of Arcady. | |
| |
| The forest that was all so grand | |
| When pipes and tabors had their sway | 10 |
| Stood leafless now, a ghostly band | |
| Of skeletons in cold array. | |
| A lonely surge of ancient spray | |
| Told of an unforgetful sea, | |
| But iron blows had hushed for aye | 15 |
| The broken flutes of Arcady. | |
| |
| No more by summer breezes fanned, | |
| The place was desolate and gray; | |
| But still my dream was to command | |
| New life into that shrunken clay. | 20 |
| I tried it. And you scan to-day, | |
| With uncommiserating glee, | |
| The songs of one who strove to play | |
| The broken flutes of Arcady. | |
| |
ENVOY
So, Rock, I join the common fray, | 25 |
| To fight where Mammon may decree; | |
| And leave, to crumble as they may, | |
| The broken flutes of Arcady. | |
