Three Melancholy Songs

Harp of wild and dreamy strain, when I touch thy strings,
Why sound out of longforgotten things?
Harp, in other, earlier days, I could sing to thee;
And not one of all my lays vexed my memory.

But now, if I awake a note that gave me joy before
Sounds of sorrow from thee float,
Changing evermore.

Yet, still steeped in memory's dyes, come sailing on,
Darkening my summer skies,
Shutting out my sun.

'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,
All soft and still and fair;
The solemn hour of midnight
Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,

But most where trees are sending
Their breezy boughs on high,
Or stooping low are lending
A shelter from the sky.

And there in those wild bowers
A lovely form is laid;
Green grass and dew-steeped flowers
Wave gently round her head. 

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow,
And the storm is fast descending
And yet I cannot go.

Clouds upon clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes here below
But nothing here can move me;
I cannot, I will not go.