Poems By Robert Leighton: 2nd ed |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
SONNETS. |
VII. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
Poems | ||
198
SONNETS.
VII. THE DRUNKARD'S SONNET.
List, friend, and I will tell you what I amSince to deep draughts I have myself given o'er.
My coat, you see, is bare, and a sad qualm
Gripes in my purse and makes it retch full sore:
This eye, that once was pure as any star,
Is now a half-burnt coal; and this same face
That has no meaning in't, whose features are
Expression's grave, once mirror'd every grace:
The God-breathed soul that with a Heavenly light
Illumed this frame, is sear'd and scorch'd away:
All mind, all feeling, all impulsive might
Have stolen like vapour from this senseless clay.
Is not that all our Heaven that hath me left?
Is not this Hell—to know I am bereft?
Poems | ||