The Sonnet is a world, where feelings caught In webs of phantasy, combine and fuse Their kindred elements 'neath mystic dews Shed from the ether round man's dwelling wrought; Distilling heart's content, star-fragrance fraught With influences from the breathing fires Of heaven in everlasting endless gyres Ending and encircling orbs of thought. Our Sonnet's world hath two fix'd hemispheres: This, where the sun with fierce strength masculine Pours his keen rays and bids the noonday shine; That, where the moon and the stars, concordant powers, Shed milder rays, and daylight disappears In low melodious music of still hours.