XX

4 0 00

XX

Sonnet

The stars come out; the fragrant shadows fall

About a dreaming garden still and sweet,

I hear the unseen bats above me bleat

Among the ghostly moths their hunting call,

And twinkling glow-worms all about me crawl.

Now for a chamber dim, a pillow meet

For slumbers deep as death, a faultless sheet,

Cool, white and smooth. So may I reach the hall

With poppies strewn where sleep that is so dear

With magic sponge can wipe away an hour

Or twelve and make them naught. Why not a year,

Why could a man not loiter in that bower

Until a thousand painless cycles wore,

And then⁠—what if it held him evermore?