Poems (Hornblower)/Sonnet (Pent in the city's darksome walls, I pine)
For works with similar titles, see Sonnet.
SONNET.
Pent in the city's darksome walls, I pine For the pure air of heaven, and mountain breeze; To hear the fresh winds sigh among the trees,And gaze once more on nature's face divine.Alas! in vain; for wearing pain is mine, Sickness and weariness:—sometimes I think, That, but for one dear being, on the blink,I would not ask to linger—to confineThe heart that pants for freedom—to endure A tortured frame, with every blessing round— To dream of woods, and waters, and the soundOf birds most musical—and feel how poorThe town's vain scenes, to one whose steps would beOn mountain wilds, 'mid nature's liberty.