Two Sonnets

I     "Why are your songs all wild and bitter sad     As funeral dirges with the orphans' cries?     Each night since first the world was made hath had     A sequent day to laugh it down the skies.     Chant us a glee to make our hearts rejoice,     Or seal in silence this unmanly moan."     My friend, I have no power to rule my voice     A spirit lifts me where I lie alone,     And thrills me into song by its own laws;     That which I feel, but seldom know, indeed     Tempering the melody it could not cause.     The bleeding heart cannot forever bleed     Inwardly solely; on the wan lips, too,     Dark blood will bubble ghastly into view. II     Striving to sing glad songs, I but attain     Wild discords sadder than Grief's saddest tune;     As if an owl with his harsh screech should strain     To over-gratulate a thrush of June.     The nightingale upon its thorny spray     Finds inspiration in the sullen dark;     The kindling dawn, the world-wide joyous day     Are inspiration to the soaring lark;     The seas are silent in the sunny calm,     Their anthem surges in the tempest boom;     The skies outroll no solemn thunder psalm     Till they have clothed themselves with clouds of gloom.     My mirth can laugh and talk, but cannot sing;     My grief finds harmonies in everything.