His Lachrym; Or, Mirth Turned To Mourning.
Call me no more, As heretofore, The music of a feast; Since now, alas! The mirth that was In me is dead or ceas'd. Before I went, To banishment, Into the loathed west, I could rehearse A lyric verse, And speak it with the best. But time, ay me! Has laid, I see, My organ fast asleep, And turn'd my voice Into the noise Of those that sit and weep.
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"Call me no more,..."
"His Lachrym; Or, Mirth Turned To Mourning." is a quintessential example of Robert Herrick's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...