The linkage here descibes Lewis as an Irish poet. He would have called himself an Ulsterman, loyal to the crown, for which he served in one war. The modern divisions of nations miss subtleties. And yes, a Sonnet.
Lewis is born a little later than most of the poets of the modernist movement. Perhaps he is not one of them: perhaps the use of this form indicates an early rejection of modernism and the progressive project.
The stars come out; the fragrant shadows fall
About a dreaming garden still and sweet,
I hear the unseen bats above me bleat
Among the ghostly moths their hunting call,
And twinkling glow-worms all about me crawl.
Now for a chamber dim, a pillow meet
For slumbers deep as death, a faultless sheet,
Cool, white and smooth. So may I reach the hall
With poppies strewn where sleep that is so dear
With magic sponge can wipe away an hour
Or twelve and make them naught. Why not a year,
Why could a man not loiter in that bower
Until a thousand painless cycles wore,
And then-what if it held him evermore?
C. S. Lewis