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Updated: May 25, 2025
Such poets are usually at their best when they bind themselves to the discipline of existing forms and particularly when they limit the movements of their muse to the "sonnet's scanty plot of ground." Unamuno's best poetry, as Wordsworth's, is in his sonnets. His Rosario de Sonetos Líricos, published in 1911, contains some of the finest sonnets in the Spanish language.
Miss Sonnet's face brightened again. "Is Mr. Bickett in this country? " she asked, her voice carefully nonchalant. "I have not heard anything about him for two or three years." "He sailed for France a week ago," I answered slowly. "He intends to join the French engineering corps." There was a long moment of silence.
I left him eating his breakfast and getting ready to receive a flock of them sent him by some physicians he knows. I must hurry back to help him through." Miss Sonnet's opportunity had come! I knew it, knew also that I must speak to my sister-in-law at once about her. But she had finished her flying little visit and was putting on her coat before I finally forced myself to broach the subject.
The sonnets, for instance, that most nearly approach perfection are those dominated by one thought. This thought may be turned over, indeed, as the octave passes into the sextet, and may be viewed from another angle, or applied in an unexpected way. And yet the content of a sonnet, considered as a whole, must be as integral as the sonnet's form. So must it be with any song.
In truth, the prison, into which we doom Ourselves, no prison is: and hence to me, In sundry moods 'twas pastime to be bound Within the sonnet's scanty plot of ground. Yes, Mr. Moxon, to him perhaps, but not to every one the "plot of ground" which is "scanty" to an elephant is a wilderness to a mouse; and the garment in which Wordsworth might feel straitened hangs flabby about a puny imitator.
Finally, in despair, I rose cautiously, not to awaken Dicky, and slipping on my bathrobe and fur-trimmed mules, made my way into the dining-room. Turning on the light, I looked around for something to read until I should get sleepy. "What is the matter, Mrs. Graham? Are you ill?" Miss Sonnet's soft, voice sounded just behind me.
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