William BeckfordElegiac Sonnet to a MopstickStraight remnant of the spiry birchen bough,That over the streamlet wont perchance to quakeThy many twinkling leaves and, bending low,Beheld thy white rind dancing on the lake —How doth thy present state, poor stick! awakeMy pathos — for, alas! even stripped as thouMay be my beating breast, if ever forsakePhilisto this poor heart; and break his vow.So musing on, I fare with many a sighAnd meditating then on times long past,To thee, lorn pole! I look with tearful eye,As all beside the floor-soiled pail thou art cast;And my sad thoughts, while I behold thee twirled,Turn on the twistings of this troublous world.octave sestet quatrain tercet couplet line phr s