Sonnet-Vii

Our life is like a forest, where the sun Glints down upon us through the throbbing leaves; The full light rarely finds us. One by one, Deep rooted in our souls, there springeth up Dark groves of human passion, rich in gloom, At first no bigger than an acorn-cup. Hope threads the tangled labyrinth, but grieves Till all our sins have rotted in their tomb, And made the rich loam of each yearning heart To bring forth fruits and flowers to new life. We feel the dew from heaven, and there start From some deep fountain little rills whose strife Is drowned in music. Thus in light and shade We live, and move, and die, through all this earthly glade.