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My Sonnets

[by W. C. Bennett]

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TO THE SONNET.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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5

TO THE SONNET.

Thou chronicler of fleeting thoughts, in thee
Find shelter from oblivion and a home
My, else swift-dying, fancies, as they come
Up from the mind's abysses. Thou to me
A visible enduring memory
Shalt be; for thou, I know, art never dumb
When I demand of thee my thoughts. In some,
Perchance in all, the stranger's eye shall see
No thing that worth the treasuring may seem,
Yet in the lucid amber of thy line
Still will I shrine them,—still devoutly deem
That they are lovely, since they all are mine.
Sweet Sonnet! my winged thoughts O treasure still;
I love them, let the world think what they will.
November 15, 1842.