Sonnet XVIII
SINCE in the pleasant time of opening flowers
That flow’r, Her life, was doom’d to fade away,—
Since Her dear loss hath shaded lovely hours,
And turn’d to mourning all the smiles of May,—
Henceforward when the warm soft breath of Spring
Bids cowslips star the meadows, thick and sweet;
When doves are in the green wood murmuring,
And children wander with delighted feet;
When, by their own rich beauty downward bent,
Soft Guelder-roses hang their tufts of snow,
And purple lilacs yield a fagrant scent,
And bright laburnum droops its yellow bough;—
Let that Spring-time be welcomed with a sigh,
For Her lamented Rake,—who was so young to die!
