Sonnet.
The whole day long chased by the eager sun,1
From yellow morn, the fleet young hours fly,2
O’er dewy mountain-tops, up silent sky ;3
Down o’er the western hills they swift speed on,4
Still seeming within reach and never won.5
Behind the hot sun presses breathlessly,6
But fresh as at their dawn, o’er the cool sea7
He sees them glide, then drop down one by one ;8
He slacks the reins, he lifts his fevered head,9
Throws back his humid locks—then casts a glance,10
Embracing all the height and vast expanse11
Of heaving seas, broad earth and burning air :12
One look of desolation and despair,13
For that day gone—for those fair hours fled.14