SONNET XXXI. THE LANDMARK. WAS that the landmark? What,—the foolish well Was that my point of turning ?--I had thought But lo! the path is missed, I must go back, And thirst to drink when next I reach the spring Which once I stained, which since may have grown black. That the same goal is still on the same track. SONNET XXXII. A DARK DAY. THE gloom that breathes upon me with these airs Lie by Time's grace till night and sleep may soothe ! Gleaned by a girl in autumns of her youth, Which one new year makes soft her marriage-bed. SONNET XXXIII. THE HILL SUMMIT. THIS feast-day of the sun, his altar there In the broad west has blazed for vesper-song; Yet may I not forget that I was 'ware, So journeying, of his face at intervals Transfigured where the fringed horizon falls, A fiery bush with coruscating hair. And now that I have climbed and won this height, I must tread downward through the sloping shade And travel the bewildered tracks till night. Yet for this hour I still may here be stayed And the last bird fly into the last light. SONNET XXXIV. BARREN SPRING. ONCE more the changed year's turning wheel returns: And as a girl sails balanced in the wind, And now before and now again behind Stoops as it swoops, with cheek that laughs and burns,- Behold, this crocus is a withering flame; This snowdrop, snow; this apple-blossom's part To breed the fruit that breeds the serpent's art. Nay, for these Spring-flowers, turn thy face from them, Nor gaze till on the year's last lily-stem The white cup shrivels round the golden heart. SONNETS XXXV. XXXVI. XXXVII. THE CHOICE. I. EAT thou and drink; to-morrow thou shalt die. May pour for thee this golden wine, brim-high, Till round the glass thy fingers glow like gold. We'll drown all hours: thy song, while hours are toll'd, Shall leap, as fountains veil the changing sky. Now kiss, and think that there are really those, Vain gold, vain lore, and yet might choose our way! Through many days they toil; then comes a day They die not, never having lived, but cease; And round their narrow lips the mould falls close. |