Sonnet.
Poor drifted flower, which this
unthinking sea1
Sends where it will, to any passer’s foot,2
Do memories of sweet earth about thy root3
Haunt thee ? and when the salt spray shudders thee,4
Hast thou a thought of dew ? and when the light5
Slopes through thee to the cold unanswering sand,6
Do thrills and mockeries of growth expand7
Thy useless veins ? Day moulders into Night8
As thou to nothing ; but great Morn shall stand9
And quicken all the unforgetful land10
With glory, and the ready sky with bliss,11
Thou only unconcerned beneath a kiss12
Which wakes the world ; thou, like a homeless heart,13
Movest no more, but diest where thou art !14