Love-Sonnets by Evelyn Douglas [i.e. J. E. Barlas] |
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| XVII. |
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| XX. |
| XXI. |
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| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. | XXXII.
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| XXXIII. |
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| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
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| XLI. |
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| XLVII. |
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| L. |
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| LV. |
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| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
 | Love-Sonnets |  |
40
XXXII.
[As I go musing through this mournful land]
As I go musing through this mournful landSoothed by the pine-tree's solemn harmony,
Thy well-loved image comes and walks by me.
I seem to hold thee by the gentle hand
And talk of things I dimly understand,
That thy dear spirit set to mine may be
As to an intricate lock the simple key,
That knows it, and can move its iron band.
Then, when the torrent's music bids me wake,
And I stand staring at the purple hills,
Alone, and at the pine-woods and the lake,
I feel as one whom tears nor dreams can slake;
The sweet past with despair the future fills;
Hope like a half-healed wound begins to ache.
| Love-Sonnets | |