Neglected Now Is The Old Guitar And Moldering Into Decay; Fretted With Many A Rift And Scar That The Dull Dust Hides Away, While The Spider Spins A Silver Star In Its Silent Lips To-Day. The Keys Hold Only Nerveless Strings - The Sinews Of Brave Old Airs Are Pulseless Now; And The Scarf That Clings So Closely Here Declares A Sad Regret In Its Ravelings And The Faded Hue It Wears. But The Old Guitar, With A Lenient Grace, Has Cherished A Smile For Me; And Its Features Hint Of A Fairer Face That Comes With A Memory Of A Flower-And-Perfume-Haunted Place And A Moonlit Balcony. Music Sweeter Than Words Confess Or The Minstrel'S Powers Invent, Thrilled Here Once At The Light Caress Of The Fairy Hands That Lent This Excuse For The Kiss I Press On The Dear Old Instrument. The Rose Of Pearl With The Jeweled Stem Still Blooms; And The Tiny Sets In The Circle All Are Here; The Gem In The Keys, And The Silver Frets; But The Dainty Fingers That Danced O'Er Them - Alas For The Heart'S Regrets! - Alas For The Loosened Strings To-Day, And The Wounds Of Rift And Scar On A Worn Old Heart, With Its Roundelay Enthralled With A Stronger Bar That Fate Weaves On, Through A Dull Decay Like That Of The Old Guitar!