Sonnet CLXXIV:
Some one within my hearing said tonight,
‘I saw the robins building; Spring is here.’
And I, who shudder with a silent fear
At time’s advance, recoiled in vague affright.
The robins build! Ere long in fresh delight
Their crimson throats will carol to my ear;
Their eggs will open, and the brood they rear
Will hop and twitter in their anxious sight.
But what to us will golden springtide bring
Who dread mutation? What unfolding shell?
What fledgling hope unto our ears will sing?
Where shall we build against the storms that swell
Around the slippery spray on which we swing?
Perhaps, alas, these prophet tears foretell.
