To H. F. M.: A Sonnet in Sunlight


This is a day for sonnets: Oh how clear
Our splendid cliffs and summits lift the gaze —
If all the perfect moments of the year
Were poured and gathered in one sudden blaze,
Then, then perhaps, in some endowered phrase
My flat, strewn words would rise and come more near
To tell of you. Your beauty and your praise
Would fall like sunlight on this paper here.

Then I would build a sonnet that would stand
Proud and perennial on this pale bright sky;
So tall, so steep, that it might stay the hand
Of Time, the dusty wrecker. He would sigh
To tear my strong words down. And he would say:
" That song he built for her, one summer day. "
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