 | Nugae Canorae |  |
217
SONNET XLII.
[Thou speakest well! Imagination owes]
Written 29th Sept. 1807.
Thou speakest well! Imagination owes
All to herself. To trifles light and vain
She gives amazing stress of joy and pain;
And sometimes, mighty in her own repose,
Removeth mountains, that impending rose
To check her onward path! Creation's reign,
Touched by her magic wand, brings forth a train
Of playful sprites, or ghosts foreboding woes;
A world to all, save him that sees, unknown!
In summer's blissful noon strange voices swell;
In night's deep silence, whence that bursting groan?
These, and a thousand shapes, and sounds that dwell
With Fancy, are exclusively their own,
Loved by the Priestess of the Magic Cell.
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