Broken-Stringed Guitar

My broken-stringed guitar lies broken on the floor,
Sweet melody prior walks slowly out the door.
And left behind is musician with music gone,
Gone is my music of which I have grown so fond.

Patience! Patience! When shall I learn to be patient!
And wait till precious strings stretch’d and be nascent.
Of what good then is now for a broken-stringed guitar,
That has lost its zealous spirit and has been marred?

Had I learnt so long ago that to lose virtue,
Was to losing my sweet music and precious you,
Had I waited for thy wings to spread instead of spur,
Thou would bear forth our sweet music, but now, you slur.

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