Verse > Anthologies > Hunt and Lee, eds. > The Book of the Sonnet
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Hunt and Lee, comps.  The Book of the Sonnet.  1867.
 
III. Gentle Greatness Undervalued, till Lost
By William Green
 
FROM the unbarring to the shut of day,
  Ay, ofttimes restless in the midnight blind,
  His loss I mourn; it lies upon my mind
  Like a thick mist that will not clear away,
But bodes, and brings, griefs showers. His was a sway        5
  Of soul so gentle, we alone might find,
  Not see its strength; a wit, that, ever kind,
  Would spare the humbled in its freest play;—
A silent, boastless stream, smooth, clear, but deep;—
  His mighty powers attired themselves so plain        10
  They drew no worship though they won the heart:
Now he is gone, we waken from the sleep;
  But, as of visiting gods the poets feign,
  We knew him not, till turning to depart.
 
 
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