To the Sonnet

Ameen Rihani

1876 –1940

Though cribbed and gyved, thou canst within thy 

          walls 

Unfold a wondrous wealth of worlds unseen,

And flood the soul’s abyss with moon-light sheen,

As well as darken passions’ gilded halls ; 

Thy fourteen outlets are so many falls 

From which gush out the prisoned joy, or 

         spleen— 

The silvery cascades, or the billows green,

And either a sea of bliss or grief recalls. 

Thou goddess of the gems of Fancy’s deep, 

Though few thy facets, they reflect the whole 

Of inner-self in multi-shaded hues ; 

Thou art the couch of dreams that never sleep ; 

Thou art the phoenix of the poet’s soul,

As well the crystal palace of his muse.