A Plaint

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A Plaint

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #67

When didst Thou wed me to vacillation O Sire,
Moulded my will in image of a flickering fire?
Ever it roams restless like a tireless bee
Flitting from woe to rotten woe it doth see.

From what discarded cast in Thy mint 
Is drawn my issue dull and irreverent?
In what greyish waters dipped my being
That it veers thus always to some ruing.

Am I Thy living maxim to warn the world
Of concerns base and propensities unwanted?
Or makest Thou me for some proverb dire,
By felled example to instil an obeying fear?

My ears and heart tire of these hourly alarms,
Oh dispatch me even the least of Thy infinite charms!