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A book of Bristol sonnets

By H. D. Rawnsley

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THE MOSS COTTAGE,
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


132

THE MOSS COTTAGE,

AT THE WYND-CLIFF.

High standing on that verge of Paradise,
I asked for some assurance of the Fall;
There was no sin, nor any grief at all,
In that grand amphitheatre's surprise!
Then from the trees beneath did smoke arise,
Blue opaline, a vapoury coronal,
That crowned with peace some cotter's woodland hall,
Where Mortal toils to eat and sleep, and dies!
Emblem of ill, and messenger of good;
Unthankful heart, and eyes that so repine!
Man knew not labour in his Eden-hood;
But fallen, oh! how beautiful this sign!
For, though the day be hard, it's message brings
Tales of home-fire, glad meals, warm evenings!