Sonnet — An Invocation to the Master #278

What crisis to Thee did sorely demand 
That Thou must ransom my life to time?
For some age old debt that was unpaid
And heeding Thy word I remain in this clime.

My soul holds memory of Thy visage,
Refuses to yield a portrait to my mind,
A hollow remains that none can assuage
And I wander like a homeless wind.

I remain like a thought that can’t find
Its apt expression in a word-body,
Or like an empty breath unsuffused 
With sap of love’s grand sublimity.

Who or what do I love the more, Thee or Thy command?
Oh, Thee I adore, am merely loyal to Thy word.