Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONNET: 1, 22, by FREDERICK GODDARD TUCKERMAN



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SONNET: 1, 22, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: The morning comes; not slow, with reddening gold
Last Line: And breaking hearts that hate the morning light.


The morning comes, not slow with reddening gold,
But wildly driven with windy shower and sway
As if the wind would blow the dark away:
Voices of wail, of misery multifold,
Wake with the light and its harsh glare obey.
And yet I walk betimes this day of spring,
Still my own private portion reckoning,
Not to compute, though every tear be told.
O might I on the gale my sorrow fling!
But sweep, sweep on, wild blast; who bids thee stay?
Across the stormy headlands shriek and sing
And, earlier than the daytime bring the day
To pouring eyes half-quenched with watery sight,
And breaking hearts that hate the morning light.





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