Sonnet

Most wonderful and strange it seems, that

Who but a little time ago was

High on the waves of passion and of pain,

With aching heat and wildly throbbing brain,

Who peered into the darkness, deeming

All things there found if but One thing were lost,

Thus calm and still and silent here should lie,

Watching and waiting, —waiting passively.

The dark has faded, and before mine

Have long, grey flats expanded, dim and bare;

And through the changing guises all things

Inevitable Law I recognise:

Yet in my heart a hint of feeling

Which half a hope and half a despair.