CCXXXIV Sonnet
Die down, O dismal day, and let me live;
And come, blue deeps, magnificently strewn
With coloured clouds—large, light, and fugitive—
By upper winds through pompous motions blown.
Now it is death in life—a vapour dense 5
Creeps round my window, till I cannot see
The far snow-shining mountains, and the glens
Shagging the mountain tops. O God! make free
This barren shackled earth, so deadly cold—
Breathe gently forth thy spring, till winter flies 10
In rude amazement, fearful and yet bold,
While she performs her customed charities.
I weigh the loaded hours till life is bare—
O God, for one clear day, a snowdrop, and sweet air!
David Gray.