POETRY.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 18, 20 June 1874, Page 3

POETRY.

A SONNETT. [BY KEV. It. WILTON. ] 1 Sweet violets, we joy to hail Your lovely blooms once more, Cerulean purple, suowy pale, And fragaut as of yore ; Oh, where Hide yc your petals fair, Before Mysterious winds of March Come wauderiug down the sheltered vale And tuft with rose the larch 1 'Sweet nightingales, we joy to hear Your happy wild wood song Thrilling once more the moonlight clear With music soft and strong ; Oh, where, Hide ye through winter bare, And long Before the voice of Spring Bids you return to charm our ear, On ocean-wandering wing 1 Dear saints in heaven, arrayed in light, Singing to harps of gold, Your glory ravishes my sight; Where wandered ye of old ? Oh, where Found ye that beauty rare— Untold 1 " 'Neath a dim tree on earth We washed our robes and made them white, And tuned our harps to mirth I" THE PATH. Backwards I look along my path, A pleasant path by lawn and lea, The thrush and linnet sing no more, No longer hums the summer bee. The flowers are fled : the leaves are dead On shrub and tree. Forward 1 look along the path That I, alas, have still to tread. A dreary waste, vague shapes of pain, Are there, that fill my soul with dread. Better than trace that woful space, Be with the dead. Upwards I look beyond the way That I, forlorn, have still to go ; The cool dews fall from golden stars That glide where tempests never blow, Nor sounds of sighs ascend the skies, Nor tear-drops flow.