Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867.
VIII. “Like one who walketh in a plenteous land”Frances Anne Kemble (1809–1893)
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By flowing waters, under shady trees,
Through sunny meadows, where the summer bees
Feed in the thyme and clover; on each hand
Fair gardens lying, where of fruit and flower
The bounteous season hath poured out its dower;
Where saffron skies roof in the earth with light,
And birds sing thankfully towards heaven, while he
With a sad heart walks through this jubilee,
Beholding how, beyond this happy land,
Stretches a thirsty desert of gray sand,
Where all the air is one thick, leaden blight,
Where all things dwarf and dwindle,—so walk I,
Through my rich, present life, to what beyond doth lie.