 | Griselda |  |
237
SONNET.
[Like one, who in the stormy crash of battle]
Like one, who in the stormy crash of battle,With sword and shield too heavy for his hold,
Bleeding, and weak, and deafened with the rattle,
Feels his limbs sinking and his heart a-cold,
Sudden a gentle eye, gentle and bold,—
A friendly look falls on him through the fight,
And once again his tired fingers fold
About the hilt, and strike a stroke aright.—
So has thy gracious look, lady, to-night
Nerved me with courage more than may be told;
So stand and strike I, fighting in thy sight,
Backward or forward be life's battle rolled;
And so I grasp my purpose, and I swear
To win the wreath that I am set to wear.
| Griselda | |