O thou whose face hath felt the Winter’s wind,
Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist,
And the black elm tops ‘mong the freezing stars,
To thee the spring will be a harvest-time.
O thou, whose only book has been the light
Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on
Night after night when Phoebus was away,
To thee the spring shall be a triple morn.
O fret not after knowledge – I have none,
And yet my song comes native with the warmth.
O fret not after knowledge – I have none
And yet the evening listens. He who saddens
at thought of idleness cannot be idle,
And he’s awake who thinks himself asleep.
The unrimed sonnet, number 47, in which assonance again plays an important role, is an interesting venture, and the skill with which the repetitions and sound devices are controlled makes one scarcely conscious of the absence of rime. (Lawrence John Zillman 1939)