 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
117
APPRECIATION.
Yet were there other some, the generous fewKindly prophetic, helping with their praise
Balmy and precious as the morning dew
Or early sunshine in those anxious days;
All thanks, all thanks!—I now can shine on you;
And love you for the love that linger'd not
Till honour and success had wreath'd my pen,
Till God had seal'd to me a blessed lot,—
That pleasant heritage, the hearts of men:
All thanks, ye noble souls! Behold, the rill
Your dewy praise did graciously distil
Soon gather'd to a stream, and swelling then
Grew to a river, and that river wide
Far out to sea now rolls its ceaseless tide.
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