Sonnet-An Invocation to the Master #253
Too brief is the lease of solar hours
Lent by arc of a common day,
How press the siege of circumstances
Seeking my aspiration to betray.
With an hourly nemesis I must grapple,
With it all the armoury time can grant,
My portion here is only a will to wrestle,
The fruit on Nature and Thee dependent.
A typal labour seems this curious phase
Where all the learnt strengths are futile,
But as the seed from the soil doth rise
I must claw out of this poise surreal.
Oh bridge now all my discordant parts,
For Thee a perfect perfection and no less.