 | Poems |  |
SONNET VI.
When, from my desk in yonder crowded fane,Thy vacant pew my wandering eyes survey,
Seeking unconsciously the far away,
My heart shrinks back upon itself with pain
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I wish and wish that thou wast here to pray
Beside me, and so speed upon their way
(As oft thou hast) my flagging prayers again:
But when, our solemn act of worship o'er,
In pastoral guise the pulpit I ascend,
No longer then thy absence I deplore:
Nay, can almost rejoice, beloved friend,
That I need play the mountebank no more,
Presuming my dim light to thee to lend.
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