A Sonnet is a moment's monument,
         Memorial from the Soul's eternity
         To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be,
     Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,
     Of its own arduous fulness reverent:
         Carve it in ivory or in ebony,
         As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see
     Its flowering crest impearl'd and orient.

     A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals
       The soul,--its converse, to what Power 'tis due: --
   Whether for tribute to the august appeals
       Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue,
   It serve; or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath,
   In Charon's palm it pay the toll to Death.