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Sonnets In times of dreaded darkness, silence, dearth
of happy hopes and dreams of future fate,
when wound-round thought destroys the timid earth
which guides each footfall, heavy, to its place,
and souls, endampened, shudder at the fall
and rising of each law-ground star above,
engorged with worries burning out at all
the days and nights a-passing in its love -
ah, such a foe no reason can upend,
for darkness, white-washed hopes and haven tracks
ensorcel us, strip off what reason's rend
may qualify, replacing pow'r with wax.
For to become ensorcelled is to try
to find a beauty reason passes by.
