William Wilfred Campbell (1861–1918)

I AM a sad Aeolian lyre,

On which the wind of destiny sings

Earth’s discords, or her glad desire,

Until some dread hand breaks my strings;—

Until some dread hand makes me mute,

And Earth’s great organ tones, her roar

Of Autumn on his wintry shore;

Old Ocean’s voice,

Bidding his mighty hosts rejoice;

Spring’s melodies that thrill and soar,

Her viol, oboe, lute, and flute,

Reverberate round my heart no more.