A Sonnet is a moment's monument, Memorial from the Soul's eternity To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be,Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,Of its own arduous fulness reverent: Carve it in ivory or in ebony, As Day or Night may rule; and let Time seeIts flowering crest impearl'd and orient.
A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals The soul,--its converse, to what Power 'tis due: --Whether for tribute to the august appeals Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue,It serve; or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath,In Charon's palm it pay the toll to Death.
