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] |
![]() |
![]() |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. | XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
XLII. |
XLIII. |
XLIV. |
XLV. |
XLVI. |
XLVII. |
XLVIII. |
XLIX. |
L. |
LI. |
LII. |
LIII. |
LIV. |
LV. |
LVI. |
LVII. |
LVIII. |
LIX. |
LX. |
LXI. |
LXII. |
LXIII. |
LXIV. |
LXV. |
![]() |
![]() | 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.
![]() | Sixty-Five Sonnets | ![]() |