Sonnets by Edward Moxon |
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XXVII. | SONNET XXVII.
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Sonnets | ||
33
SONNET XXVII.
[I cannot look in thy sweet face, dear maid]
I cannot look in thy sweet face, dear maid,And give assent unto the sceptic's creed,
Annihilating hope, leaving a reed
To lean on, unsubstantial as the shade
Of passing clouds. No, in the hour of need
High Heaven its own will claim: the form may fade;
But the ethereal mind, the soul sublimed,
And purified with sorrow and with love,
Shall rise as virtuous metals rise above
The dross of earth. As upwards thou hast climbed
From infancy, so shalt thou shining soar
Triumphant over Death, and Fate, and Chance,
And every mortal strife: Life is the trance
From which thou shalt awake to sleep no more.
Sonnets | ||