Sonnet XIII by William Lisle Bowles

O Time! who know’st a lenient hand to lay
Softest on sorrow’s wound, and slowly thence,
(Lulling to sad repose the weary sense)
Stealest the long-forgotten pang away;
On Thee I rest my only hope at last,
And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear
That flows in vain o’er all my soul held dear,
I may look back on many a sorrow past,
And meet life’s peaceful evening with a smile—
As some poor bird, at day’s departing hour,
Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower
Forgetful, tho’ its wings are wet the while:—
Yet ah! how much must that poor heart endure,
Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure!

From: http://www.english.upenn.edu/~mgamer/Etexts/bowles1789.html#sonnet13

Date: 1789

By: William Lisle Bowles (1762-1850)

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