Джордж Дарли (George Darley)

Sonnet to the Same

I thought that I could ever happy be,
Married to meditation, and my lyre.
Charming the moments on with melody.
That fills the ear with musical desire;
But now far other thoughts my breast inspire;
I find no happiness in poesy;
Within my soul burns a diviner fire,
For now my heart is full of love and Thee:
Yet 'tis a melancholy thing to love
When Fate or Expectation shuts the door,
When all the mercy I can hope, above
Mere friendship, is thy pity,—and no more,
For who could love a being such as me,
Thy most unhappy son, Fatality?

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