 | Anne Evans: Poems and Music |  |
42
SONNET.
[Blind to all bars, the Artist fain would try]
Blind to all bars, the Artist fain would tryTo shadow forth the Rainbow; and in vain!
Earth hath not wherewithal to give again
Those heavenliest hues of the ethereal sky.
Far less the Poet finds a fitting dye
To sketch the airy castles of the brain;
His pencil mars them with rude touch mundane,
Bright though they gleam on his enchanted eye.
Yet will he toil to make his lone world free
To alien minds. Alas! the fond endeavour!
E'en through his glass that realm they dimly see
Which, from their own, unmeasured spaces sever:
For ages on his words may echoed be,
The while his thought remains unread for ever!
| Anne Evans: Poems and Music | |