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170
SONNET.
(TO A LADY WITH A BASKET.)
These osiers by a murmuring river grew,That leaped and laughed in sunshine all the day:
The homeless winds with their green leaves did play,
And on their silky palms the gem-like dew
Hung like the silvery stars in night's deep blue;
And birds sailed o'er them when the day grew gray,
And light waves kissed their stems, then rolled away,
Singing a pleasant tune as on they flew.
Despise them not, for 'twas a poet's hand
Gave them that simple form which they now wear:
Better could he weave thoughts in accents bland,
And by such power the heart in triumph bear;
But he is a mere shell on ocean's sand,
Which Triton-lip hath not yet sounded clear.
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