 | Poems |  |
SONNET.
Where, Hope, are all thy golden visions fled?Sybil enchantress! vain are all thy dreams!
Formless the shade that on the fancy beams,
When faith is flown, and energy is dead;
Thine airy arches, that enshield the head,
With fascinating figures wrought, delude,
And the sweet gales of Araby, that shed
Love through the soul, cheer not the wayward mood;
Oh! lynx-eyed rapture, on her eagle wing,
In feeling exquisite soars away,
Basks in the sunbeams of celestial day,
Then sinks—and fierce the fires of fury wring.
Joys charm not this cold, sublunary sphere,
Life opens with a smile, and closes with a tear.
| Poems | |