| Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867. | | | | I. “My window’s open to the evening sky” | | By Charles Strong |
| | | MY window’s open to the evening sky, | |
| The solemn trees are fringed with golden light, | |
| The lawn here shadowed lies, there kindles bright, | |
| And cherished roses lift their incense high: | |
| The punctual thrush, on plane-tree warbling nigh, | 5 |
| With loud and luscious voice calls down the night; | |
| Dim waters, flowing on with gentle might, | |
| Between each pause are heard to murmur by. | |
| The book that told of wars in holy land | |
| (Nor less than Tasso sounded in mine ears) | 10 |
| Escapes unheeded from my listless hand. | |
| Poets, whom Nature for her service rears, | |
| Like priests in her great temple minist’ring stand, | |
| But in her glory fade when she appears. | | | | |
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