Sonnet. To

Com’ a te piace Parla. DANTE.

Thou poet of one mood in all thy lays, Who rangest all life with one only love, Like a west wind across the world dost move, Sweeping thy harp of floods thine own wild ways.

The countries change, but not the west-wind days Which are thy songs. Thy soft skies shine above, And on all seas the colours of a dove, And on all fields a flash of silver greys.

So make the whole world answer to thy art, And sweet monotonous meanings; charm our ears; Change not thou ever, bearing, for thy part, One thought that is the treasure of thy years, A small cloud full of rain upon thy heart And in thine arms, clasped, like a child in tears.