Verse > Anthologies > Hunt and Lee, eds. > The Book of the Sonnet
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Hunt and Lee, comps.  The Book of the Sonnet.  1867.
 
I. Solitary at Christmas, but Not Sad
By Alexander Smith (1830–1867)
 
JOY like a stream flows through the Christmas streets,
But I am sitting in my silent room,
Sitting all silent in congenial gloom;—
To-night, while half the world the other greets
With smiles and grasping hands, and drinks and meats,        5
I sit, and muse on my poetic doom.
Like the dim scent within a budded rose,
A joy is folded in my heart; and when
I think on Poets nurtured ’mong the throes,
And by the lowly hearths of common men,—        10
Think of their works, some song, some swelling ode
With gorgeous music growing to a close,
Deep-muffled as the dead-march of a god,—
My heart is burning to be one of those.
 
 
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