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Sonnet XCIX

Language: English

Oh, whither shall my troubled Muse encline?
[When]1 not the glorious scaffolde of the skies,
Nor highest heaven's resplendent hierarchies,
Where heav'nly soldiours in pure armor shine;
Nor ayer which thy sweete Spirite doth refine,
Nor earth thy precious [bloud]2 unworthy prise,
Nor seas which, when thou list, ebbe and arise;
Nor any creature, profane or divine,
Can blaze the flourish of thy tearmelesse praise;
Surreaching farre, by manifold large space,
All divine fabricke of thy sacred hands;
[Even thither shall my Muse her musicke raise,
Where my soule's everlasting pallace stands, --
Sweete refuge of salvation ! court of grace!]3


View original text (without footnotes)
Note: the title given in publications is "Sonnet LXXXXIX" [sic], but we have translated that to conventional Roman numerals.

1 Dyson: "If"
2 Dyson: "blood's"
3 not set by Dyson.

Submitted by Harry Joelson

Authorship


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This text (or a part of it) is used in a work

Text added to the website: 2011-03-11.
Last modified: 2014-08-12 12:50:19
Line count: 14
Word count: 100

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