O Time! who know'st a lenient hand to lay
Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence
(Lulling to sad repose the weary sense)
The faint pang stealest unperceived away;
On thee I rest my only hope at last,
And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear
That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear,
I may look back on every sorrow past,
And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile— 
As some lone bird, at day's departing hour,
Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower
Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while:— 
Yet ah! how much must that poor heart endure,
Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure!

Added: Feb 21 2003 | Viewed: 545 times | Comments (0)

Poet: William Lisle Bowles
Poem: Sonnet: July 18th 1787

Year: Published/Written in 1810
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