Byron’s Sonnet form for Poetic Bloomings
Why should I believe in nature’s rift?
That divides sea from shining sea?
From ripened tree, dire green has stripped, what remnant lies for me?
The greater light-bearer has disgraced day, greatly misbestowing her gift
From every tree we may freely eat, though in waveless grains, what shall I sift?
Astral rays slim, shunned, sternly turned away
Our shining seas shine no more, our pilgrims no longer come to play
brazen winds bring frozen slumber, barren trees wander adrift
Despite the trembling season’s fall from such astounding grace
hunting wildly her chief rouge blooms, stalking her cosmetic blush
forgiveness is a virtue obtained, regardless of it’s stoic face
beauteous remembrance of chilling greens, when old man winter hushed
Wandering anew in trotting thoughts, cadence of mind apace
Tis’ but a season of slumber now, when spring recoils foe, and running vistas plush