I SIXTY SEVENTH SONNET
Unheeding stream, yet one last time I look
At your clear crystal depths, in impish speed
Dancing between the mosses and the reed;
One last long gaze I take, O restless brook.
It is nigh dusk and time that we forsook
Your leafy haunts, where trout and swallow feed,
To climb the hill and leave this cradling mead
For home, far from your lone sequestered nook.
Your days of innocence and glee will run
Not far hence, for your baby-hearted joy
Will from it treble deepen, and employ
A quiet lament; our summer day is done;
We must away, we may not linger more,
But follow in your track, our respite o’er.
II SIXTY EIGHTH SONNET
Yet will I dream, and dreaming ever see
Whilst in my ears persists this city’s song,
And for a time my lot is thrown among
An apathetic student company,
Dimly upon the screen of memory
Lit by a smoky hurricane a throng
Of laughing campers, busy giving tongue
To their opinions, whether they agree
Or not, till lamp is dipped. Then on her throne
Night mounts to reign in beauty, deep and still,
But for the gentle music of the rill.
I, too, dip my lamp. In the dark alone
I dream again of heathered mountain steep
And live again glad moments in my sleep.
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