Sonnet
'Tis Winter now—but Spring will blossom soon,
And flowers will lean to the embracing air—
And the young buds will vie with them to share
Each zephyr's soft caress—and when the Moon
Bends her new silver bow, as if to fling
Her arrowy lustre through some vapor's wing,
The streamlets will return the glance of Night
From their pure, gliding mirrors, set by Spring,
Deep in rich frames of clustering chrysolite,
Instead of Winter's crumbled sparks of white.
So, dearest! shall our loves, though foreign now
By cold unkindness, bloom like buds and flowers,
Like fountain's flash—for Hope, with smiling brow
Tells of a Spring, whose sweets shall all be ours!
And flowers will lean to the embracing air—
And the young buds will vie with them to share
Each zephyr's soft caress—and when the Moon
Bends her new silver bow, as if to fling
Her arrowy lustre through some vapor's wing,
The streamlets will return the glance of Night
From their pure, gliding mirrors, set by Spring,
Deep in rich frames of clustering chrysolite,
Instead of Winter's crumbled sparks of white.
So, dearest! shall our loves, though foreign now
By cold unkindness, bloom like buds and flowers,
Like fountain's flash—for Hope, with smiling brow
Tells of a Spring, whose sweets shall all be ours!
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