Most fair, most true, wilst even thou forsake
Thy path? Then never grace to living Men
Was giv'n of that high bounty to partake
That heroes know. What here remaineth then?
Let not their counsel turn thee who, afraid,
Would let "We dare not" wait upon "we would":-
None was by aught save turning back betray'd
Who in the face of storms unflinching stood.
Thy days shall not of glory cede one spark,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;In silent safety harbour not thy bark:
But follow, and, in chasing, know thou knowest.
Beyond the circling sea a brighter shore
Doth wait, where never foot hath trod before.
I suppose this is what comes of trying to write sonnets in the small hours. I simply could not resist winking at that much-maligned cat.
No comments:
Post a Comment