Volume 32 / Part 15 — SONNET—TO S. D. A.
Reading edition
BY "THE SQUIRE."
When the young Morning, like a new-drest bride, With pearls of dew fresh glistening in her hair, Walks through the east in early summer-tide. Her robe loose floating on the scented air, The laughing hours assembled at her side Or circling round her—then is she less fair Than, in my heart, the picture, sweet and rare, Thy presence left.—My books go unperused, Old friends are shunned, and time flies by unused, While I, grown idle, nothing do but dream; Gazing upon that picture till I seem Thyself, again, before my eyes to see, And not the ideal show: so that to me The semblance turns to sweet reality.
