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BYGONE SUSSEX. |
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Gray time, in time's gray fashion,
Bids wingless creatures pine : We are fallen, even we, whose passion
On earth is nearest thine.
The lark knows no such rapture,
Such joy no nightingale, As sways the songless measure Wherein thy wings take pleasure : Thy love may no man capture,
Thy pride may no man quail; The lark knows no such rapture,
Such joy no nightingale.
And we, whom dreams embolden,
We can but creep and sing And watch through heaven's waste hollow The flight no sign may follow To the utter borne beholden
Of none that lack thy wing : And we, whom dreams embolden,
We can but creep and sing. ******
Ah, well were I for ever,
Wouldst thou change lives with me, And take my song's wild honey, And give me back thy sunny Wide eyes that weary never,
And wings that search the sea; Ah, well were I for ever,
Wouldst thou change lives with me.
BODIHAM.
There is a sonnet by Edward, Lord Thurlow, |
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