In Answer to a Request
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ou ask me for a sonnet. Ah, my Dear,Can clocks tick back to yesterday at noon?Can cracked and fallen leaves recall last JuneAnd leap up on the boughs, now stiff and sere?For your sake, I would go and seek the year,Faded beyond the purple ranks of dune,Blown sands of drifted hours, which the moonStreaks with a ghostly finger, and her sneerPulls at my lengthening shadow. Yes, 'tis that!My shadow stretches forward, and the groundIs dark in front because the light's behind.It is grotesque, with such a funny hat,In watching it and walking I have foundMore than enough to occupy my mind. I cannot turn, the light would make me blind.
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