 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
130
MILTON.
O light, denied to him, that thou art mine!O blessed Sun, that I can joy in thee!
To praise the Love,—alas so lost on me,—
How gladly should I pour the hymn divine:
Yet all unlike this glorious blind old man,
Mine inward eyes with no such radiance shine;
How seldom in that better sun I bask;
How fainly would I, yet how faintly can:
Great Giver, might I unpresumptuous ask
Into my heart thy love its light to pour,
Take all instead thy righteous mercy wilt;
Not so, for Thou art God; give this, give more,
The richest glory to the poorest guilt,
So with thy Milton shall my soul adore.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |