Sonnet

To a Young Lady who paid a visit in the next room—at Oxford.
I know thee not—have ne'er beheld thy face,
Scarce heard thy voice, nor said one word to thee.
And yet I could have wished that unto me
There had been done to-day such kindly grace
As thou hast shown another. Here I pace,
A world removed from everything I love,
From all that earth below and heaven above
Made ever dear, exiled in time and space.
And as to thee, my mind is like a stream
On which the dancing shades are free to fall;
Or like the blue of heaven with light abeam
(So splendidly mononotous withal)
Whereon the gathering clouds have liberty
To work unchid their wildest phantasy.