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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=391062" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To His Lute</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=391062" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">If ever in the sylvan shade<br>A song immortal we have made,<br>Come now, O lute, I prithee come,<br>Inspire a song of Latium!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=391062" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A Lesbian first thy glories proved;<br>In arms and in repose he loved<br>To sweep thy dulcet strings, and raise<br>His voice in Love's and Liber's praise.<br>The Muses, too, and him who clings<br>To Mother Venus' apron-strings,<br>And Lycus beautiful, he sung<br>In those old days when you were young.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=391062" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O shell, that art the ornament<br>Of Phoebus, bringing sweet content<br>To Jove, and soothing troubles all,--<br>Come and requite me, when I call!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Eugene+Field">Eugene Field</a></strong></div>

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