Sonnet XXX

I do not know what truth the false

Of this sad sense of the seen world may own,

Or if this flowered plant bears also a

Unto the true reality unknown.

But as the rainbow, neither earth's nor sky's,

Stands in the dripping freshness of lulled rain,

A hope, not real yet not fancy's,

Athwart the moment of our ceasing pain.

Somehow, since pain is felt yet felt as ill,

Hope hath a better warrant than being hoped;

Since pain is felt as aught we should not

Man hath a Nature's reason for having groped,  Since Time was Time and age and grief his measures,  Towards a better shelter than Time's pleasures.