Sonnet XX.
The piteous sobs that choke the Virgin’s breath
For him, the fair betrothed Youth, who les
Cold in the narrow dwelling, or the cries
With which a Mother wails her Darling’s death,
These from our Nature’s common impulse spring
Unblamed, unpraised; but o’er the piled earth,
Which hides the sheeted corse of gray-haired Worth,
If droops the soaring Youth with slackened wing;
If he recall in saddest minstrelsy
Each tenderness bestowed, each truth impressed;
Such Grief is Reason, Virtue, Piety!
And from the Almighty Father shall descend
Comforts on his late Evening, whose young breast
Mourns with no transient love the aged friend.
