Sonnet: - XIII.
I've almost grown a portion of this place, I seem familiar with each mossy stone; Even the nimble chipmunk passes on, And looks, but never scolds me. Birds have flown And almost touched my hand; and I can trace The wild bees to their hives. I've never known So sweet a pause from labour. But the tone Of a past sorrow, like a mournful rill Threading the heart of some melodious hill, Or the complainings of the whippoorwill, Passes through every thought, and hope, and aim. It has its uses; for it cools the flame Of ardent love that burns my being up - Love, life's celestial pearl, diffused through all its cup.
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"I've almost grown a portion of this place,..."
"Sonnet: - XIII." is a quintessential example of Charles Sangster's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...