 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
299
THUS FAR.
Thus far: a few of my less faulty flowersDropt on the highway for the passers-by;
In grace and charity, good world of ours,
Leave not the foundlings freezingly to die:
They have bloom'd thus within my fancy's bowers
Willing as weeds,—perchance as little worth;
Yet have I hoped them not all things of earth;
For, with electric fervour, from my pen,
As quicken'd sometimes by angelic powers,
Thoughts have shot out to hit the hearts of men—
Whilst on mine own the spirit of light and love
So winningly hath shed his heavenly showers,
That my free songs have fill'd no toilsome hours,
But happy moments lent me from above.
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