SONNET—THE NEOPHYTE

Who knows what days I answer for to-day: Giving the bud I give the flower. I bow This yet unfaded and a faded brow; Bending these knees and feeble knees, I pray.

Thoughts yet unripe in me I bend one way, Give one repose to pain I know not now, One leaven to joy that comes, I guess not how. I dedicate my fields when Spring is grey.

Oh, rash! (I smile) to pledge my hidden wheat. I fold to-day at altars far apart Hands trembling with what toils? In their retreat I seal my love to-be, my folded art. I light the tapers at my head and feet, And lay the crucifix on this silent heart.