1. You Have Asked For A Verse: - The Request In A Rhymer 'Twere Strange To Deny; But My Hippocrene Was But My Breast, And My Feelings (Its Fountain) Are Dry. 2. Were I Now As I Was, I Had Sung What Lawrence Has Painted So Well;[607] But The Strain Would Expire On My Tongue, And The Theme Is Too Soft For My Shell. 3. I Am Ashes Where Once I Was Fire, And The Bard In My Bosom Is Dead; What I Loved I Now Merely Admire, And My Heart Is As Grey As My Head. 4. My Life Is Not Dated By Years - There Are Moments Which Act As A Plough, And There Is Not A Furrow Appears But Is Deep In My Soul As My Brow. 5. Let The Young And The Brilliant Aspire To Sing What I Gaze On In Vain; For Sorrow Has Torn From My Lyre The String Which Was Worthy The Strain. [First Published, Letters And Journals, 1830, Ii. 635, 636.]