A TINY rift within the lute
May sometimes make the music mute!
By slow degrees, the rift grows wide,
By slow degrees, the tender tide–
Harmonious once–of loving thought
Becomes with harsher measures fraught,
Until the heart’s Arcadian breath
Lapses thro’ discord into death!
(Paul Hamilton Hayne)
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Based on Topics: Death & Dying Poems, Music PoemsBased on Keywords: lapses