You have ask'd for a verse:--the request br In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny; br But my Hippocrene was but my breast, br And my feelings (its fountain) are dry. br br Were I now as I was, I had sung br What Lawrence has painted so well; br But the strain would expire on my tongue, br And the theme is too soft for my shell. br br I am ashes where once I was fire, br And the bard in my bosom is dead; br What I loved I now merely admire, br And my heart is as grey as my head. br br My life is not dated by years-- br There are moments which act as plough; br And there is not a furrow appears br But is deep in my soul as my brow. br br Let the young and the brilliant aspire br To sing what I gaze on in vain; br For sorrow has torn from my lyre br The string which was worthy the strain.