Sonnets written chiefly during a tour through Holland, Germany, Italy, Turkey, and Hungary. By Lady Emmeline Stuart Wortley |
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THE BOWL OF LIFE. |
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190
THE BOWL OF LIFE.
Crown—crown the Bowl of Life with flowers!—
Cover with gems her chalice o'er!—
Still 'tis but clay, this Bowl of ours,
Unsound and faulty at the core!
Cover with gems her chalice o'er!—
Still 'tis but clay, this Bowl of ours,
Unsound and faulty at the core!
Yet, since we know its measured draught—
Dark Waters, brought from bitterest spring!—
Must to the latest drop be quaffed,
There let some flowers their odours fling!—
Dark Waters, brought from bitterest spring!—
Must to the latest drop be quaffed,
There let some flowers their odours fling!—
There let some gems their rainbowed glow
Shed down, with quivering sparkles bright—
And let us dream whate'er we know—
The draught a stream of living light!
Shed down, with quivering sparkles bright—
And let us dream whate'er we know—
The draught a stream of living light!
Crown—crown the Bowl of Life with flowers!—
Cover with gems her chalice o'er—
The darker frowns this fount of ours,
We should conceal its frowns the more!
Cover with gems her chalice o'er—
The darker frowns this fount of ours,
We should conceal its frowns the more!
191
The wildest river must seem fair—
The rudest torrent bright appears,
If overhanging blooms smile there,
And sunny gleams its surface wears!
The rudest torrent bright appears,
If overhanging blooms smile there,
And sunny gleams its surface wears!
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