BETA

Sonnet.

Shall the hag Evil die with child Good,1
Or propagate again her loathéd kind,2
Thronging the cells of the diseasés mind,3
Hateful with hanging cheeks, a withered
broad,
4
Though hourly pastured on the salient blood ?5
Oh ! that the wind which bloweth cold or
heat
6
Would shatter and o’erbear the brazen beat7
Of their broad vans, and in the solitude8
Of middle space confound them, and blow
back
9
Their wild cries down their cavern-throats, and slake10
With points of blast-borne hair their heated
eyne !
11
So their wan limbs no more might come
between
12
The moon and the moon’s reflex in the night,13
Nor blot with floating shades the solar light.14