Poem by Charles Kingsley

Sonnet

The baby sings not on its mother's breast;
Nor nightingales who nestle side by side;
Nor I by thine: but let us only part,
Then lips which should but kiss, and so be still,
As having uttered all, must speak again—
O stunted thoughts! O chill and fettered rhyme
Yet my great bliss, though still entirely blest,
Losing its proper home, can find no rest:
So, like a child who whiles away the time
With dance and carol till the eventide,
Watching its mother homeward through the glen;
Or nightingale, who, sitting far apart,
Tells to his listening mate within the nest
The wonder of his star-entranced heart
Till all the wakened woodlands laugh and thrill—
Forth all my being bubbles into song;
And rings aloft, not smooth, yet clear and strong.

1. Oh! That We Two Were Maying
2. A March
3. 21st September 1870
4. Down to the Mothers
5. Frank Leigh's Song

Charles Sangster Sonnet ("I sat within the temple of her heart")

Print

1373 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version