 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
THOUGHT-CRYSTALS.
Plunged in my brain, fermenting thick and warm,Simmer deep thoughts; and shape themselves apace,
So soon as Quiet for a little space
Gives Life a rest, and lulls its petty storm:
Then, in some tranquil solitary place,
Whose silence is my music, choice and good,
They shoot out crystallous, in measured form,
Magnetic harmonies:—O Solitude!
O blessed Silence! how most dear to me
Are the sweet soothings of your double grace:
The calm clear heaven wherein my spirit soars,
Then lures its inmate upward, blythe and free,
Like the glad lark that to the sun outpours,
Higher and higher, floods of minstrelsy.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |