On a Pen of Thomas Starr King
This is the reed the dead musician dropped, With tuneful magic in its sheath still hidden; The prompt allegro of its music stopped, Its melodies unbidden. But who shall finish the unfinished strain, Or wake the instrument to awe and wonder, And bid the slender barrel breathe again, An organ-pipe of thunder! His pen! what humbler memories cling about Its golden curves! what shapes and laughing graces Slipped from its point, when his full heart went out In smiles and courtly phrases? The truth, half jesting, half in earnest flung; The word of cheer, with recognition in it; The note of alms, whose golden speech outrung The golden gift within it. But all in vain the enchanters wand we wave: No stroke of ours recalls his magic vision: The incantation that its power gave Sleeps with the dead magician.
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"This is the reed the dead musician dropped,..."
Bret Harte (Francis)'s contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "On a Pen of Thomas Starr King"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...