 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
3
TO THE MUSE.
I.
To keep through life the posture of the grave,
While others walk and run and dance and leap;
To keep it ever, waking or asleep,
While shrink the limbs that Nature goodly gave;
While others walk and run and dance and leap;
To keep it ever, waking or asleep,
While shrink the limbs that Nature goodly gave;
In summer's heat no more to breast the wave;
No more to wade through seeded grasses deep;
Nor tread the cornfield where the reapers reap;
Nor stretch free limbs beneath a leafy nave:
No more to wade through seeded grasses deep;
Nor tread the cornfield where the reapers reap;
Nor stretch free limbs beneath a leafy nave:
'Tis hard, 'tis hard; and so in winter too,
'Tis hard to hear no more the sweet faint creak
Of the crisp snow, the frozen earth's clear ring,
'Tis hard to hear no more the sweet faint creak
Of the crisp snow, the frozen earth's clear ring,
Where ripe blue sloes and crimson berries woo
The hopping redbreast. But when thou dost seek
My lonely room, sweet Muse, Despair takes wing.
The hopping redbreast. But when thou dost seek
My lonely room, sweet Muse, Despair takes wing.
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |