Christopher Pearse Cranch (Кристофер Пирс Крэнч)

Sonnet 47. To G.W.C.

STILL shines our August day, as calm, as bright
As when, long years ago, we sailied away
Down the blue Narrows and the widening bay
Into the wrinkling ocean's flashing light;
And the whole universe of sound and sight
Repeats the radiance of that festal day.
But for the inward eye no power can stay
The fleeting splendor of our youth's delight.
Still shines our August day, — but not for me
The old enchantment, — when, by care and sorrow
Untried, the hopeful heart was ever free
To greet the morn as herald of like morrow.
Yet shine, fair day! And let my soul from thee
Hope, faith, and strength for life's dim future borrow.

1. Sonnet 54. Idle Hours
2. Sonnet 29. Life and Death. 1.
3. Sonnet 8. You were not born to hide such gifts as yours
4. A Poet's Soliloquy
5. Sonnet 7. THOSE times are gone, that circle thinned away

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