All English Sonnets
I MAY YET
Years have slipped from me and unachieved
Are aspirations and my lofty aims.
I feel futile unheralded peeved
And the very act of thinking hurts and maims
Ah! All golden hopes, Silver dreams,
Have crumbled like an ancient minaret,
Which Time has antiquated. All my schemes,
Are dunes of sifting sand . But I may yet,
Re-write a word or two if I let,
My injured soul renew and retain,
Its hold on hopes and aims dear and pet
And break the all restraining vicious chain
Of hopelessness and lethargic harmful fret-
To find that all my wailing was in vain.