THERE is no unawakened string,
No untried note for me to ring,
No new-found song for me to sing.
Old numbers round my day and night;
When summer comes my heart is light;
'Tis heavy, when the birds take flight.
My love is young, her face is fair,
The sun-light never leaves her hair,
Her beauty fills me with a prayer.
And many a tryst and watch I keep,
With those who laugh and those who weep,
Between the hours of work and sleep.
The songs I strive to sing have rolled
Through times and ages manifold,
A mighty chorus fully told.