Analysis of 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 bring
  To my sad spirit—old Guitar?

It is as if the warm sunlight
  In some deep glen should lingering stay,
When clouds of storm, or shades of night,
  Have wrapt the parent orb away.

It is as if the glassy brook
  Should image still its willows fair,
Though years ago the woodman's stroke
  Laid low in dust their Dryad-hair.

Even so, Guitar, thy magic tone
  Hath moved the tear and waked the sigh;
Hath bid the ancient torrent moan,
  Although its very source is dry.