THE WILD STRAWBERRY. 



WASTED SWEETNESS. 



SONNET. 



No more, — no more, my heart ! give out no more 



Thy solemn music to th' inconstant wind ; 



Suffer not every careless hand to find 

 Thy hidden stops of harmony, nor pour, 

 As thou wert wont to do in days of yore, 



Thy sweetest tones on ears that yield no heed : 



Oh, be not thou like the responsive reed, 

 That, ever as the light air wandereth o'er, 



Utters its wild and broken melody ; 

 For I would have thee like the ocean-shell, 



Breathing a monotone of that deep sea 

 Whose moaning waves within my breast must swell, 



Marking with ebb and flow my destiny, 

 Until death's icy touch the restless surge shall quell. 



