SONNET XVI. THE THREE GIFTS. When I was born, there was a gentle Fay She saw that mine should be a darkling day, Sacred to evil Fortune, first and last; That my frail bark should drift before the blast, Tracked by some sateless imp that gapes for prey. O'er my first cradle-dream she breathed a spell: "Three gifts I give thee, luckless one," she said; "With all a poet's joy thy heart shall swell, TO VARIA. Miseri quibus Intentata nites. HORACE. Still somewhat fair thou seemest to me: But oh! how much I pity thee For wanting such a beauty rare As once I fondly deemed was thine, I thought thy heart and soul were fair. Thus fair, and true, and dear, and good, Can smile on this, on that can frown. Thus, till thy double face is shown, Thy cheated lovers waste their days. And thus the mind's bright power doth make The idol Time shall kindly break; And Love will learn, and blush to know, The image it had so enshrined Was but a thing of clay, and bow No more, with such devotion blind. |