 | Sonnets at the English Lakes |  |
96
XCVI. THE SYBIL'S GROTTO:
Or Rhododendrons at Croft.
She willed for life, her beauty had no fears,Her pride in youth's exuberance asked no more;
Haggard, and shrunk, and withered to the core,
She longs for death, put off a thousand years:
Inexorable still, the god she hears
With passionate sweet entreaty o'er and o'er;
Nor recks Apollo how she steals a store
Of warmth to blossom every time he nears.
Wooer, he cannot win.—The days of doom
Pass, and such steadfast maidenhood to dower,
About her rock-hewn sanctuary blows
The Rhododendron's multitude of flower;
And with her Sybil words in every bloom,
The miracle of blushes throbs and glows.
| Sonnets at the English Lakes | |