Explore "Verses and Sonnets" by Hilaire Belloc on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Not for the luckless buds our roots may bear, / Now quite in bloom, now seared and cankered lying, / Will I entreat you, lest they should compare / My sad mortality with the fall of flowers; / But hold with me your chaste communion rare, / And touch with life this mortal case of ours. / For you were born beyond the power of dying: / I die as bounded things die everywhere.
You're full companionship, I'm silence lonely; / You're stuff, I'm void; you're living, I'm decay. / I fall, I think, to twilight ending only, / You lift, I know, to never-ending day. / And knowing living gift was life for me, / In narrow room of rhyme, I fixed it certainly.