The Lady To Her Guitar
For him who struck thy foreign string,
I ween this heart has ceased to care;
Then why dost thou such feelings
To my sad spirit—old Guitar
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For him who struck thy foreign string,
I ween this heart has ceased to care;
Then why dost thou such feelings
To my sad spirit—old Guitar
Neglected now is the old
And moldering into decay;
Fretted with many a rift and
That the dull dust hides away,