 | The Uncollected Poems of Henry Timrod |  |
SONNET I
Bell! if that old exploded creed were trueWhich made the bright stars arbiters of fate,
What a long heaven of bliss might I and you
And all who love like us anticipate!
For oh! how could they prophecy of woe,
Those mild forgiving stars that lend their light
Even to the clouds enshrouding them from sight—
Like goodness smiling on a treacherous foe—
And through the long dark night are ever shining
Alike on joy and hearts in sadness pining.
Why life would be a path ornate with flowers
Darken'd, it may be, with some transient showers,
But they would be of April, only given
That Earth might not become too much like Heaven.
| The Uncollected Poems of Henry Timrod | |