Sonett-Forum

To a Friend

I know too little of thee, my dear friend,
Or else too much, - for nothing less than all
Were quite enough to guide me to the end
And fatal purpose of thine earthly call.

I know thy will is stubborn as a wall
Against all acts that trespass or offend.
I know there is no sin or fault so small
Wherewith the current of thy soul would blend;

But yet I know that there is something yet
Which I know not, a burden on thy breast
No joy of earth can make thy heart forget;

The sleepless thought that will not be at rest,
That, like a wee bird struggling in the net,
Still whines and twitters of its distant nest.

April 1846