Sonnets by Edward Moxon |
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| XVI. | SONNET XVI.
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 | Sonnets |  |
22
SONNET XVI.
[Why doth the tear, my soul, unbidden start]
Why doth the tear, my soul, unbidden start,At sight of these my long-lost native hills,
Girt with bright landscapes and encircling rills,
That used a different solace to impart?
What mean the sobs that this full heart oppress,
That whilom leapt for joy their sides to gain;
When like the playful colt my feet would strain
To climb their flowery heights, and gaining bless
Their airy summit? What portend these tears?
The meads are clothed in beauty as before—
But, my companions, ye are here no more,
With whom I spent that youth, those happy years;
Nor can I now on hope's wild pinions soar,
But must through dreary scenes my path explore.
| Sonnets | |