 | Poems |  |
205
SONNET.
[In the mid garden doth a fountain stand]
In the mid garden doth a fountain stand;From font to font its waters fall alway,
Freshening the leaves by their continual play:—
Such often have I seen in southern land,
While every leaf, as though by light winds fanned,
Has quivered underneath the dazzling spray,
Keeping its greenness all the sultry day,
While others pine aloof, a parchëd band.
And in the mystic garden of the soul
A fountain, nourished from the upper springs,
Sends ever its clear waters up on high,
Which while a dewy freshness round it flings,
All plants which there acknowledge its control
Show fair and green, else drooping, pale, and dry.
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