Neglected now is the old guitar br And moldering into decay; br Fretted with many a rift and scar br That the dull dust hides away, br While the spider spins a silver star br In its silent lips to-day. br br The keys hold only nerveless strings-- br The sinews of brave old airs br Are pulseless now; and the scarf that clings br So closely here declares br A sad regret in its ravelings br And the faded hue it wears. br br But the old guitar, with a lenient grace, br Has cherished a smile for me; br And its features hint of a fairer face br That comes with a memory br Of a flower-and-perfume-haunted place br And a moonlit balcony. br br Music sweeter than words confess, br Or the minstrel's powers invent, br Thrilled here once at the light caress br Of the fairy hands that lent br This excuse for the kiss I press br On the dear old instrument.