Bouts-Rimés Sonnets IV.

I said within myself: “I am a fool
To sigh ever for that which being gone
Cannot return: the sun shines as it shone ;
Rejoice.”—But who can be made glad by rule?
My heart and soul and spirit are no tool
To play with and direct; my cheek is wan
With memory; and ever and anon
I weep, feeling life is a weary school.
There is much noise and bustle in the street;
It used to be so, and it is so now;
All are the same, and will be many a year.
Spirit that canst not break and wilt not bow,
Fear not the cold, thou who hast born the heat;—
Die if thou wilt, but what hast thou to fear?