 | Poems |  |
49
SONNET.
[Like some sweet portrait of the olden time]
TO M. A. M.
Like some sweet portrait of the olden time,
(When painters pictured with a poet's eye,
And woman, woo'd in her young beauty's prime,
Wearing Romance's semblance gloriously,
Mov'd forth, the chosen genius of the clime!)
Mellowed, by lapse of years to that pale cast,
That gentle fading morning of decay,—
Thou lookest dear—a vision of the past!
Gliding like day-dream on thy placid way:—
Scarce seems thy form of earth, so pure thy ray!
So calm, so meek, so pale thy look and mein!
So hallowed the chaste light around thee thrown,
That, as we gaze, we cling unto the scene,
To worship thee—ere thou'rt for ever flown!
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