THE TRANSIT : SONNET 147

The new is coming and the old is going,

And in the transit's caught my woeful soul

Fazed by the game the old did play and thinking

Whether the new will take forth the old's toll

Or heal my wounds fore'er with painful bites,

And fill my bowl forever begging, empty

And make my days delightful, with my nights;

But comes he with a pledge, with failure goes he!

Howe'er the transit plays a soothing buffer --

The plane of calm between uneasy slopes

Of retreating foe and fear'd do-gooder --

As pains of my despairs are balm'd by hopes.

Hence I do wish the transit lies no end;

Better is life than being assured, declined.

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KISS ME, PLEASE!

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