 | By Severn Sea and Other Poems |  |
46
AN EXCUSE
You asked me, friend, to send a Sonnet,I wrote that I would think upon it,
But Love is neither sold nor bought,
And sonnets do not come with thought,
Unless the touch of fire be given
The Muse alone can filch from Heaven;
So though my answer linger late,
I crave your patience still to wait
Till sunnier hours and skies more kind
Befriend a something torpid mind.
When this relentless winter yields,
And cowslips tuft your Pencombe fields,
And when in Maudlin May is born
With chant and chime and dissonant horn,
And trees grow green and rivers glisten,
And for the cuckoo's call we listen,
And larger light gives larger scope
To soul and sense, why then we'll hope
The month and Muse may me inspire
With happier chance to prove the lyre,
And then may be I'll send a Sonnet,
For in meantime I'll think upon it.
| By Severn Sea and Other Poems | |