Sonnet VII
To me, a pilgrim on that journey boundWhose stations Beauty’s bright examples are,As of a silken city famed afarOver the sands for wealth and holy ground,Came the report of one—a woman crownedWith all perfection, blemishless and high,As the full moon amid the moonlit sky,With the world’s praise and wonder clad around.And I who held this notion of success:To leave no form of Nature’s lovelinessUnworshipped, if glad eyes have access there,—Beyond all earthly bounds have made my goalTo find where that sweet shrine is and extolThe hand that triumphed in a work so fair.