Dreamed, too, that I had posted it right here,
Where this attempt is now. But it would seem
The adder whom I dreamed stole it. I fear
It was the best one that I ever wrote.
I certainly believed this as I slept.
I reach now for it, just to watch it float
Away. I sit and wish now that I'd kept
On sleeping, even though t'would be a waste
Of precious time, called free, that's really not
At all free. How I live my life, in haste
To reach these days, only to nap and rot
When they arrive! And yet, shining and rare
That sonnet, dreamed of, still awaits me there.