SONNET
[
36
]
XXXVI.
SHOULD
the
lone
Wand'rer
,
fainting
on
his
way
,
Rest
for
a
moment
of
the
sultry
hours
,
And
tho'
his
path
thro'
thorns
and
roughness
lay
,
Pluck
the
wild
rose
,
or
wood
bine's
gadding
flow'rs
;
Weaving
gay
wreaths
,
beneath
some
shelt'ring
tree
,
The
sense
of
sorrow
,
he
awhile
may
lose
;
So
have
I
sought
thy
flow'rs
,
fair
Poesy
!
So
charm'd
my
way
,
with
Friendship
and
the
Muse
.
But
darker
now
grows
Life's
unhappy
day
,
Dark
,
with
new
clouds
of
evil
yet
to
come
,
Her
pencil
sickening
Fancy
throws
away
,
And
weary
Hope
reclines
upon
the
tomb
;
And
points
my
wishes
to
that
tranquil
shore
,
Where
the
pale
spectre
Care
,
pursues
no
more
.