 | A New Year's Eve, and Other Poems |  |
42
SONNET
TO THE SAME.
Winter hath bound the brooks in icy chains;The bee that murmured in the cowslip bell
Now feasts securely in his honied cell;
Silence is on the woods and on the plains,
And darkening clouds and desolating rains
Have marred your forest fountain's quiet spell;
Yet, though retired from these awhile ye dwell,
Your hearts' best hoard of poesy remains.
The sports of childhood, the exhaustless store
Of home-born thoughts and feelings dear to each,
Converse, or silence eloquent as speech;
History's rich page, tradition's richer lore,
Of tale and legend prized in days of yore;—
These, worthy of the Muse, are in your reach.
| A New Year's Eve, and Other Poems | |