The Doubters

Ye love, and sonnets write! Fate’s strange behest!

The heart, its hidden meaning to declare,

Must seek for rhymes, uniting pair with pair:
Learn, children, that the will is weak, at best.

Scarcely with freedom the o’erflowing breast

As yet can speak, and well may it beware;

Tempestuous passions sweep each chord that’s there, Then once more sink to night and gentle rest.

Why vex yourselves and us, the heavy stone

Up the steep path but step by step to roll?

It falls again, and ye ne’er cease to strive.