 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
78
HIPPARCHUS.
In spirit as I roam with thee by night,Threading the galaxy on fancy's wing,
Oft, as I reach a star more sweetly bright,
My hope will rise and in a rapture sing,
Fair planet, can I ever be thy king,
A sainted monarch in thy halls of light?
For there are many mansions, mighty thrones,
Glories, and sceptres, praise and golden zones,
Reward, and homage, crowns and shining robes:
Ambition's boldest dream, and wildest flight
Hath yet to be borne out: ecstatic soul
Shall soar triumphant to those burning globes
That round essential God sublimely roll,
The life, the sun, the centre of the whole!
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |