 | Imaginary Sonnets |  |
36
II.
Now like a silver bubble soars the moon,
And up to heaven's surface works her way,
While all the valley fills with gleaming spray
Before she reaches to her midnight noon;
And up to heaven's surface works her way,
While all the valley fills with gleaming spray
Before she reaches to her midnight noon;
And fumes from all the censers of hot June
Rise up from gardens and from fields of hay,
Mute, save where springs of molten silver play,
Or drones a beetle on his were bassoon.
Rise up from gardens and from fields of hay,
Mute, save where springs of molten silver play,
Or drones a beetle on his were bassoon.
The placid Empress of the summer night
Pours on each sleeping valley and each hill
The silver froth that tips the shrubs with white;
Pours on each sleeping valley and each hill
The silver froth that tips the shrubs with white;
And thou, O Empress of my life, dost fill
The furthest valleys of my soul with light;
While thine is all the incense they distil.
The furthest valleys of my soul with light;
While thine is all the incense they distil.
| Imaginary Sonnets | |