Sixty-Five Sonnets With Prefatory Remarks on the Accordance of the Sonnet with the Powers of the English Language: Also, A Few Miscellaneous Poems [by Thomas Doubleday] |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. | VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
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 | Sixty-Five Sonnets |  |
32
VI.
Still is this firstling love a welcome guest,Tho' pale, cold, sickly, as a spring-time flower,
It tells the winter of my heart is o'er,
And glad I hail the stranger to my breast;
There may it rise, by sighing gales caress'd,
Wooed often by the early sun-beams coy,
And freshen'd with the softest tears of joy,
Till worthy to her bosom to be press'd,
She, whose bright glance, with playful witchery,
First taught thy fair yet fragile stem to shoot.
Thou graceful bud of promise! 'tis by thee
I've hope of summer's richness, autumn's fruit,
E'en though by suns too fierce should withered be
Thy flower, or nipped by frosts thy tender root.
| Sixty-Five Sonnets | |