Since my young days of passion—joy, or pain—

Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string—

And both may jar: it may be, that in vain

I would essay as I have sung to sing ⁷ :

Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling;

So that it wean me from the weary dream

Of selfish grief or gladness—so it fling

Forgetfulness around me—it shall seem

To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme.