Sonnet Xii:

XII Why sing forever in this mournful way, Vexing the future for my hidden lot? Are today's joys unvalued and forgot, While the red print of kindling kisses stay Yet on my lips, and through my pulses play The uncooled currents which our contact shot Through every vein? O pardon! I am not Dull nor ungrateful to this blissful day. I clasp its bounties in a close embrace. But still my dark prophetic soul will gaze With searching eyes upon the coming days, And though I hold the present's gift a grace Above my due, my anxious hand I raise To tear the visor from the future's face.