Sonnet
14 lines✦
he master and the slave go hand in hand,Though touch be lost. The poet is a slave,And there be kings do sorrowfully craveThe joyance that a scullion may command.But, ah, the sonnet-slave must understandThe mission of his bondage, or the graveMay clasp his bones, or ever he shall saveThe perfect word that is the poet's wand! The sonnet is a crown, whereof the rhymesAre for Thought's purest gold the jewel-stones;But shapes and echoes that are never doneWill haunt the workshop, as regret sometimesWill bring with human yearning to sad thronesThe crash of battles that are never won.
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