Book 2 — SONNET[153:1]
Reading edition
SONNET[153:1]
COMPOSED ON A JOURNEY HOMEWARD; THE AUTHOR HAVING RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE OF THE BIRTH OF A SON, SEPT. 20, 1796
Oft o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll Which makes the present (while the flash doth last) Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past, Mixed with such feelings, as perplex the soul Self-questioned in her sleep; and some have said[153:2] 5 [154]We liv'd, ere yet this robe of flesh we wore.[154:1] O my sweet baby! when I reach my door, If heavy looks should tell me thou art dead, (As sometimes, through excess of hope, I fear) I think that I should struggle to believe 10 Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere Sentenc'd for some more venial crime to grieve; Did'st scream, then spring to meet Heaven's quick reprieve, While we wept idly o'er thy little bier!
1796.
FOOTNOTES:
LINENOTES:
Title] Sonnet composed on my journey home from Birmingham MS. Letter, 1796: Sonnet ix. To a Friend, &c. 1797: Sonnet xvii. To a Friend, &c. 1803.
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Oft of some unknown Past such Fancies roll Swift o'er my brain as make the Present seem For a brief moment like a most strange dream When not unconscious that she dreamt, the soul Questions herself in sleep! and some have said We lived ere yet this fleshly robe we wore.
MS. Letter, 1796.
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robe of flesh] fleshy robe 1797, 1803.
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art] wert MS. Letter, 1796, 1797, 1803.