The Poetry Corner

Sonnet.

By Nathaniel Parker Willis

Storm had been on the hills. The day had worn As if a sleep upon the hours had crept; And the dark clouds that gather'd at the morn In dull, impenetrable masses slept, And the wept leaves hung droopingly, and all Was like the mournful aspect of a pall. Suddenly on the horizon's edge, a blue And delicate line, as of a pencil, lay, And, as it wider and intenser grew, The darkness removed silently away, And, with the splendor of a God, broke through The perfect glory of departing day - So, when his stormy pilgrimage is o'er, Will light upon the dying Christian pour.