Verse > Anthologies > Hunt and Lee, eds. > The Book of the Sonnet
Hunt and Lee, comps.  The Book of the Sonnet.  1867.
X. “No hope is mine, no comfort mine”
By George Henry Boker (1823–1890)
NO hope is mine, no comfort mine; for I
  Am as an exile, and no pilgrim’s grace
  Nerves my despair; I never can retrace
  The paths I trod, though myriads pass me by,
Journeying, light-hearted, to the happy place        5
  Whence I am driven. Thou, Nature, on whose face
  I look for aid, dost close thy weary eye
  Against my grief. The moon wanes in the sky,
The flowers dry up and perish, the great sea
  Through all its land-locked arteries ebbs; the dew        10
  Lies sickening on the blighted branch; no new
Creation opens with the spring: to me
  There is no crescent moon, no bud, no view
  Of refluent tides, no fruit,—nor will there be.

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