All English Sonnets
The clay with which you make the toys today,
And knead it into proper, plastic state,
Oh! watch that soon this very clay
Will claim you for its bosom wait, O! wait,
All inspirations, all interesting shapes,
Like sinking ships, though made of toughened steel,
With strongest bulwark, by the constant laps
Will spring new leaks and finally over keel
So all these shapes will lose their angular lines,
And turn to lumps of clay, as they were,
And into dust, which dried , grayish shines,
Will all of them be mixed, my dear sir.
Though at this time your bones this do not feel
But will be cursed by nature’s vicious wheel.