Page:Fourteen sonnets and poems.djvu/59

 Nor what she's like, Tho' that might serve as well, If it I dared attempt.

Perhaps if I could here The muse indite, What might be like her I could partly write, And of her give a glimpse.

Did not bleak winter's Storms and clouds obscure At times his glorious Face and pure, The sun might be like her.

Did spring remain forever Fresh and young, Replete with daisies To be walked among,— Then spring would be like her.

Could summer always keep Her rich renown, And ne'er succumb to Autumn's frost and frown,— Then summer were like her.