Blue Sonnet, Op. 8

That those endless hardships so would reward,
That some meaning from that black taste I would discern,
I could not expect, nor my state vile regard,
With much anguished notion; nor in vain recompense yearn,
If from my sepulchre one final glance I could purloin,
And till that ideal sight my wounded visage turn,
No regrets would then hinder my scarred way,
Nor temptation now lead my path astray,
Thus thinking I arised from my newly-found grave,
And sought that spring-like sight to enslave,
Till my eyes met those of that fair divine
And oh! how she beheld me keenly, creation of sublime!