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SONNET IX.
Six weeks of anxious watching and suspense,With ceaseless ebbs and flows of hope and dread,
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Dimming, in part, their dark magnificence,
Which else perchance had, many a summer hence,
As in time past, still graced thy matron head;
Grey hast thou grown beside our children's bed,
Raised, through thy care, from stroke of pestilence:
Therefore, O best-belov'd, more deeply now
Those streaks of summer snow do I hold dear
Than the pure jet which shaded thy young brow
When, at the altar's rail, with hearts sincere
We plighted, each to each, our nuptial vow;
—Mother and wife on Earth without a peer!
1843.
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