SONNET — THE NEOPHYTE

Who knows what days I answer for to-day:

Giving the bud I give the flower. I bow

This yet unfaded and a faded brow;

Bending these knees and feeble knees, I pray.

Thoughts yet unripe in me I bend one way,

Give one repose to pain I know not now,

One leaven to joy that comes, I guess not how.

I dedicate my fields when Spring is grey.

Oh, rash! ( I smile ) to pledge my hidden wheat.

I fold to-day at altars far apart

Hands trembling with what toils? In their retreat

I seal my love to-be, my folded art.

I light the tapers at my head and feet,

And lay the crucifix on this silent heart.