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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=409095" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet 04</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=409095" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">They dub thee idler, smiling sneeringly,<br>And why? because, forsooth, so many moons,<br>Here dwelling voiceless by the voiceful sea,<br>Thou hast not set thy thoughts to paltry tunes<br>In song or sonnet. Them these golden noons<br>Oppress not with their beauty; they could prate,<br>Even while a prophet read the solemn runes<br>On which is hanging some imperial fate.<br>How know they, these good gossips, what to thee<br>The ocean and its wanderers may have brought?<br>How know they, in their busy vacancy,<br>With what far aim thy spirit may be fraught?<br>Or that thou dost not bow thee silently<br>Before some great unutterable thought?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Henry+Timrod">Henry Timrod</a></strong></div>

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