Verse > Anthologies > Hunt and Lee, eds. > The Book of the Sonnet
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Hunt and Lee, comps.  The Book of the Sonnet.  1867.
 
X. “No hope is mine, no comfort mine”
By George Henry Boker (1823–1890)
 
NO hope is mine, no comfort mine; for I
  Am as an exile, and no pilgrim’s grace
  Nerves my despair; I never can retrace
  The paths I trod, though myriads pass me by,
Journeying, light-hearted, to the happy place        5
  Whence I am driven. Thou, Nature, on whose face
  I look for aid, dost close thy weary eye
  Against my grief. The moon wanes in the sky,
The flowers dry up and perish, the great sea
  Through all its land-locked arteries ebbs; the dew        10
  Lies sickening on the blighted branch; no new
Creation opens with the spring: to me
  There is no crescent moon, no bud, no view
  Of refluent tides, no fruit,—nor will there be.
 
 
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