CHRISTMAS SONNET TO J. L. G. by BAYARD TAYLOR

IF I could touch with Petrarch's pen this strain
Of graver song, and shape to liquid flow
Of soft Ita ian syllables the glow
That warms my heart, my tribute were not vain:
But how shall I such measured sweetness gain
As may your golden nature fitly show,
And with the heart-light shine, that fills you so,
It pales the graces of the cultured brain?
Long have I known, Love better is than Fame,
And Love hath crowned you: yet if any bay
Cling to my chaplet when the years have fled,
And I am dust, may this which bears your name
Cling latest, that my love's result shall stay
When that which mine ambition wrought is dead!

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