Sonnets of the Wingless Hours By Eugene Lee-Hamilton |
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FOR THE FLY-LEAF OF ‘LE MIE PRIGIONI.’ |
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 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
10
FOR THE FLY-LEAF OF ‘LE MIE PRIGIONI.’
There was a Poet whom the Austrians cast
From dungeon into dungeon; one whose pains,
Writ in this little book which ne'er complains,
Helped to raise Italy, like him chained fast;
From dungeon into dungeon; one whose pains,
Writ in this little book which ne'er complains,
Helped to raise Italy, like him chained fast;
Whose countless counted minutes, in the vast
Silence of Spielberg, were to be as grains
For Freedom's golden harvest; till his chains,
Made of mere steel, were stricken off at last.
Silence of Spielberg, were to be as grains
For Freedom's golden harvest; till his chains,
Made of mere steel, were stricken off at last.
What of the shadowy grates, the clankless links,
Which no lands watch, but which, like iron bars,
Quench Hope's thin flame, which slowly sinks and sinks?
Which no lands watch, but which, like iron bars,
Quench Hope's thin flame, which slowly sinks and sinks?
They serve no cause; they rouse no patriot wars;
But through the bars of shadow and their chinks
A face can look, and twilight's few great stars.
But through the bars of shadow and their chinks
A face can look, and twilight's few great stars.
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |