Sonnet.
I once had thought to have embalm’d my
name1
name1
With Poesy :— to have served the gentle
Muses2
Muses2
With high sincerity :— but Fate refuses,3
And I am now become most strangely tame,4
And careless what becomes of Glory’s game— 5
Who strives—who wins the wondrous prize
—who loses !6
—who loses !6
Not that the heavy world my spirit bruises;7
But I have not the heart to at Fame.8
Magnificent and mental images9
‘Have visited me oftentimes, and given10
My mind to proud delights—but now it sees11
Those visions going like the lights of even :12
All intellectual grandeur dimly flees,—13
And I am quiet at the stars of heaven !14