A book of Bristol sonnets | ||
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!
A book of Bristol sonnets | ||