Sonnet.

Beloved Shakespeare, when I scan the sky
And think of worlds illimitably far,
And how this earth is smaller than yon star,
My thoughts are lost in drear immensity;
So when I pass before my mental eye
Thy sov'ran types of human character,
And feel how real, how wonderful they are,
Like starry worlds above, they mystify.
I cannot think what aptitude was thine
To grasp all human life as in thy hand,
To pour with sweetest note the song divine,
And deal out wisdom like the countless sand—
In vain I brood, as on the stars that shine,
I can but feel—I cannot understand,