A Sonnet is a
moment's monument,
Memorial from the
Soul's eternity
To one dead
deathless hour. Look that it be,
Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,
Of its own arduous fullness reverent:
Carve it in ivory
or in ebony,
As Day or Night may
rule; and let Time see
Its flowering crest impearled and orient.
A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals
The soul - its converse, to
what Power 'tis due:
Whether for tribute to the august
appeals
Of Life, or dower in Love's
high retinue,
It serve; or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath,
In Charon's palm it pay the toll to
Death.
