Sixty-Five Sonnets With Prefatory Remarks on the Accordance of the Sonnet with the Powers of the English Language: Also, A Few Miscellaneous Poems [by Thomas Doubleday] |
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 | Sixty-Five Sonnets |  |
38
XII.
A boundless love of heaven, in mild repose,Slumbers upon thy face; the gentle hair
How meekly parted on thy forehead bare;
Pure, as they ought, the ivory lids that close
O'er those rich gems, where, when uplifted, glows
A swimming rapture; the pale face, so fair
In Grecian-moulded calmness! wants the glare
Of lilies, softened like a faint tinged rose;
Thy bosom heaves without an earthly stain;
Those liquid tones, which languish on the ear,
Sink to my heart;—there, ah, how sadly dear!
For could my verse rise like Cecilia's strain,
The hope to call were impious as vain,
Such angel love from heaven to waste it here.
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