(sonnet #'s CCIV, CCV, CCVI)
# I
The world is not so lovely from outside
As from within this fair demesne, as there's
No lack of beauty in its morning airs
Or gilded gloaming scenes that here reside.
Within the angles from inside abide
The wealth that's nigh unseen elsewhere, yet ne'er's
Beheld except in these confines: where cares
Seem lighter, where romance does oft preside.
A sanctum of sorts, refuge almost, a retreat
Like folk quite often seek and rich have known
For ages: trees with varied verdure meet
Where golden splashes, dappled shade enthrone
Romantic pleasures day and night and greet.
A wealth by far too rich to call my own.
# II
Aye, wealth by far too rich to call my own
I find and see, yea often daily greet
Within this fair demesne, as nigh replete
With all that romance needs; where oft alone
Souls ever seek; in solitude have thrown
Their griefs aside, as nature's a retreat
To cast their burdens off; where seems complete
Pure freedom from our woes men oft have flown.
Preserves, reserves of public land are set
Apart for such relief. And who am I
That I could vie for such a plot as yet
To call my selfish own? I ne'er could buy
Such wealth as I've enjoyed and here oft get
To taste. A treasure for whose loss I'll sigh.
# III
A treasure for whose loss I'll sigh I deem
This fair demesne, which yet looks not as fair
Without as from within. The angles share
The blame for such enchantment it does seem,
As from outside do differ; this esteem
I ween is owing to the charm all wear
From certain viewpoints; for not ev'rywhere
Can boast such sway to captivate to dream.
The crickets chirp, frogs chorus loudly through
So many scenes; leaves rustle in the play
Of teasing zephyrs elsewhere, while sweet blue
Skies cheer, and dappled shadows' dance dismay
Mundane with nat'ral pleasures it is true.
A private stash resides here on display.
04Sep11