Sonnets and Fugitive Pieces :: :: University of Virginia Library

O, but this hollow skull
Hangs heavy on the noblest hopes we have!
Dost thou not think it doth? That passion's host
Are all disbanded, and the war is done,—
This is the best of promise proffer'd here:
Thou tell'st me that all argument from hence
Is matter out of place; that when I deem
We may not live again, pitching my doubt
On the most obvious spot for doubt to fall,
That I do idly thus, to step aside
From the high road of Truth to see a skull;
That God hath given the Victory to hope,

A giant of great strength, whom heaven hath form'd
To battle with all poison? That mistrust
Would vanish, were I conscious of the strength
Of this Messiah—I will muse awhile—
The Creed, that makes thee happy, shall be mine.