Sixty-Five Sonnets With Prefatory Remarks on the Accordance of the Sonnet with the Powers of the English Language: Also, A Few Miscellaneous Poems [by Thomas Doubleday] |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. | XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
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 | Sixty-Five Sonnets |  |
73
XLVII.
From the unbarring to the shut of day,Aye, oft' times restless in the midnight blind,
His loss I mourn; it lies upon my mind
Like a thick mist, that will not clear away,
But bodes and brings grief's showers. His was a sway
Of soul so gentle, we alone might find,
Not see its strength; a wit that, ever kind,
Would spare the humbled in its freest play.
A silent, boastless stream, smooth, clear, but deep;
His mighty powers attired themselves so plain
They drew no worship though they won the heart:
Now he is gone, we waken from the sleep,
But, as of visiting Gods the poets feign,
We knew him not till turning to depart.
| Sixty-Five Sonnets | |