It's not a sonnet, but it's one of my favorite poems ever. I discovered it when I was twenty and loved it for its multiple internal rhymes and lovely, creative imagery. Now, on the brink of forty, I get the theme at a visceral level. Love it even more.
| The Sunlight on the Garden |
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The sunlight on the garden Hardens and grows cold, We cannot cage the minute Within its nets of gold; When all is told We cannot beg for pardon. Our freedom as free lances Advances towards its end; The earth compels, upon it Sonnets and birds descend; And soon, my friend, We shall have no time for dances. The sky was good for flying Defying the church bells And every evil iron Siren and what it tells: The earth compels, We are dying, Egypt, dying And not expecting pardon, Hardened in heart anew, But glad to have sat under Thunder and rain with you, And grateful too For sunlight on the garden. Louis Macneice |
