 | Poems |  |
SONNET.
[O come not back, O come not back, dear Saint]
O come not back, O come not back, dear Saint,Even from the threshold of the court of Heaven,—
Thy race so nearly run, thy sin forgiven,
Thy spirit cleansed from all polluting taint;
O come not back, to feel the dread constraint
Of those sharp bonds which Death almost had riven,
And to and fro 'twixt him and life be driven,
Till even thy patience scarce forbears complaint.
Far rather be our loss thine endless gain,
Our tears attest the fulness of thy bliss,
Than that thou still should'st drag life's galling chain
And still thy well-won crown of glory miss;
Ripe for the next world, yet fast bound to this
In fiery fetters of tormenting pain.
| Poems | |