O Nature

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O Nature

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #142

Are these all thy lures O Nature vast,
Sin and the false, the virtue and true
Sorrow and the low, the joy and height,
All thy coin condemned to faces two?

The paltry pair limbs of meagre means
Lame to yonder and fumbling to craft,
All wideness from twin windows to gaze
And bind hungers to single tongue’s limit.

A hundred ghosts of dead dreams to haunt
The lone heart bound in the breast cage,
A mind of memory to remember and lament
The hopes still born on imagination’s page.

Keep to thy ways, I no more hold thee guilty,
And His redeeming light I’ll share with thee.