Poems By Richard Chenevix Trench: New ed |
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SONNET.
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46
SONNET.
[To feel that we are homeless exiles here]
To feel that we are homeless exiles here,To listen to the world's discordant tone,
As to a private discord of our own,
To know that we are fallen from a sphere
Of higher being, pure, serene, and clear,
Into the darkness of this dim estate—
This thought may sometimes make us desolate,
For this we may shed many a secret tear.
But to mistake our dungeon for a throne,
Our place of exile for our native land,
To hear no discords in the universe,
To find no matter over which to groan,
This (oh! that men would rightly understand!)
This, seeming better, were indeed far worse.
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