SONNET.
We stand beneath the purple dome of night, The centre ours, the little world of days, And all beyo id the vast of couufctess years. Poor, reeling Thought grows faint and sick and wan Striving to grasp the wide inftnituda Of thingi that are, then meekly hides her head In Fancy's little prison house of gold. She breathes into the orgtn-pipes of Time, Deep echoes bear the souud, the volume swells Amid the wondering mountain-heights of Miud Onward and upward growing like a wave, Until the far stars tremble and the void Of mighty Nature seems a little thing Matched with the glory of a simple song. —David MKee Wright. Puketoi, Sspt-mber, 18.'5.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OW18950912.2.165
Bibliographic details
Otago Witness, Issue 2168, 12 September 1895, Page 39
Word Count
114SONNET. Otago Witness, Issue 2168, 12 September 1895, Page 39
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