 | Imaginary Sonnets |  |
61
II.
The dust of countless years weighs down my feet,
Worn out with trudging o'er the bones of those
Whom I saw born, while states and cities rose,
Declined, and vanished, even to their seat.
Worn out with trudging o'er the bones of those
Whom I saw born, while states and cities rose,
Declined, and vanished, even to their seat.
The generations ripen like the wheat
Which every Spring for Summer's sickle sows;
While I, sole spared, trudge on without repose
Through empty desert and through crowded street.
Which every Spring for Summer's sickle sows;
While I, sole spared, trudge on without repose
Through empty desert and through crowded street.
The lightning splits the stone upon my path;
The earthquake passes, with its crazing sound;
The whirlwind wraps me in its cloak of wrath;
The earthquake passes, with its crazing sound;
The whirlwind wraps me in its cloak of wrath;
All Nature spares me, while it girds me round
With every stress and terror that it hath;
And on I trudge till ages shall be crowned.
With every stress and terror that it hath;
And on I trudge till ages shall be crowned.
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