Rampolli - A Year's Diary of an Old Soul

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PART I. SONNET LIX.

I am so weary with the burden old
Of foregone faults, and power of custom base, That much I fear to perish from the ways, And fall into my enemy's grim fold.
True, a high friend, to free me, not with gold, Came, of ineffable and utmost grace-- Then straightway vanished from before my face, So that in vain I strive him to behold. But his voice yet comes echoing below: O ye that labour, the way open lies!

Come unto me lest some one shut the gate!
--What heavenly grace--what love will--or what fate--
The pinions of a dove on me bestow
That I may rest, and from the earth arise?

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