 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
8
TO HEALTH.
O Health, the years are passing one by one,
The Springs succeed the winters; but each Spring
Finds me where Autumn left me, and thy wing
Touches me not, though priceless life-sands run.
The Springs succeed the winters; but each Spring
Finds me where Autumn left me, and thy wing
Touches me not, though priceless life-sands run.
I see Life's pleasures lost, Life's work undone,
And scan life's waste, which knows no altering,
Like those whose eyes, on sea or desert, cling
To the horizon which engulfs the sun.
And scan life's waste, which knows no altering,
Like those whose eyes, on sea or desert, cling
To the horizon which engulfs the sun.
Not the ten thousand, when they saw the sea,
A pale blue streak, from Asia's endless sand,
Shouted as I should shout at sight of thee;
A pale blue streak, from Asia's endless sand,
Shouted as I should shout at sight of thee;
No, nor Columbus, when the dawn-breeze fanned
His long strained eyes, and round him thund'ringly
Rose to the clouds the cry, ‘The land! the land!’
His long strained eyes, and round him thund'ringly
Rose to the clouds the cry, ‘The land! the land!’
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |