Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #225
What hast thou fostered O earth
Thy snows all cold and reluctant,
Thy deserts harsh and without mirth
And thicketed woods all silent?
Wither this somber countenance
Like a time-born to fate abandoned,
No single happy chirp exists
From a feathery breast love suffused?
A dirge is thy song, thy poems a lament,
Knowest thou not one happy melody
To assuage briefly a mortal heart,
Must all thy voices suffer melancholy?
Cast out now thy cocoon of gloom,
In His radiance find thy joy’s room.