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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=409103" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet 12</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=409103" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">What gossamer lures thee now? What hope, what name<br>Is on thy lips? What dreams to fruit have grown?<br>Thou who hast turned ONE Poet-heart to stone,<br>Is thine yet burning with its seraph flame?<br>Let me give back a warning of thine own,<br>That, falling from thee many moons ago,<br>Sank on my soul like the prophetic moan<br>Of some young Sibyl shadowing her own woe.<br>The words are thine, and will not do thee wrong,<br>I only bind their solemn charge to song.<br>Thy tread is on a quicksand -- oh! be wise!<br>Nor, in the passionate eagerness of youth,<br>MISTAKE THY BOSOM-SERPENT'S GLITTERING EYES<br>FOR THE CALM LIGHTS OF REASON AND OF TRUTH.</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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