Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867.
II. “Fate! seek me out some lake far off and lone”Henry Timrod (1828–1867)
F
Shut in by wooded hills that steeply rise,
And beautiful with blue, inverted skies,
Where not a breeze but comes with softened tone,
And if the waves awake, they only moan
With a low, sullen music like the rills
That have their home among those happy hills;
And let me find—there left by hands unknown—
A bark with rifted sides, and threadbare sail,
Just strong enough to bear me from the shore,
But not to reach its tree-girt harbor more!
O happy, happy rest! O world of wail!
How calmly I would tempt the peaceful deep,
And sink with smiling brow into the dreamless sleep!