Sonnet
Since childhood have I dragged my life along
The dusty purlieus and approach of Death,
Hoping the years would bring me easier breath,
And turn my painful sighing to a song.
But, ah, the years have done me cruel wrong.
For they have robbed me of that happy faith ;
Still in the world of men I move a wraith,
Who to the shadow-world not yet belong.
Too long, indeed, I linger here and take
The room of others but to droop and sigh;
Wherefore, O spinning sisters, for my sake.
No more the little tangled knots untie;
But all the skein, I do beseech you, break,
And spin a stronger thread more perfectly.
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