Sonnet 77. To The Insect Of The Gossamer
SMALL, viewless aeronaut, that by the line Of Gossamer suspended, in mid air Float'st on a sun beam--Living atom, where Ends thy breeze-guided voyage;--with what design, In ether dost thou launch thy form minute, Mocking the eye?--Alas! before the veil Of denser clouds shall hide thee, the pursuit Of the keen Swift may end thy fairy sail!-- Thus on the golden thread that Fancy weaves Buoyant, as Hope's illusive flattery breathes, The young and visionary poet leaves Life's dull realities, while sevenfold wreaths Of rainbow-light around his head revolve. Ah! soon at Sorrow's touch the radiant dreams dissolve!
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