| Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867. | | | | III. Gentle Greatness Undervalued, till Lost | | By William Green |
| | | FROM the unbarring to the shut of day, | |
| Ay, ofttimes restless in the midnight blind, | |
| His loss I mourn; it lies upon my mind | |
| Like a thick mist that will not clear away, | |
| But bodes, and brings, griefs showers. His was a sway | 5 |
| Of soul so gentle, we alone might find, | |
| Not see its strength; a wit, that, ever kind, | |
| Would spare the humbled in its freest play;— | |
| A silent, boastless stream, smooth, clear, but deep;— | |
| His mighty powers attired themselves so plain | 10 |
| They drew no worship though they won the heart: | |
| Now he is gone, we waken from the sleep; | |
| But, as of visiting gods the poets feign, | |
| We knew him not, till turning to depart. | | | | |
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