 | Anne Evans: Poems and Music |  |
40
SONNET.
[The world shut out, as here I sit and sigh]
The world shut out, as here I sit and sighBy fading midnight embers, o'er its cold
Caprice and colder craft, my heart, grown bold
In solitude, cries loudly, “Why, O why
Must earth-grown tangles intercept the sky?
Why must one live and labour and wax old
Beneath this hateful league of vulgar gold,
Oppressive pride, and empty vanity?”
Thou poor fond heart, on present rest and bliss
So strongly bent—and O, how much in vain!—
Look farther on; remembering that this
Brief stage for trial is, of toil and pain,
Wherein no single lot is cast amiss
Which human choice may turn to loss or gain.
| Anne Evans: Poems and Music | |