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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets from the Portuguese
+by Browning, Elizabeth Barrett
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Sonnets from the Portuguese
+
+Author: Browning, Elizabeth Barrett
+
+Release Date: September 14, 2004 [EBook #2002]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE ***
+
+
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1906 Caradoc Press edition by David Price, email
+ccx074@coventry.ac.uk.
+
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE
+
+
+INDEX OF FIRST LINES
+
+
+I       I thought once how Theocritus had sung
+II      But only three in all God's universe
+III     Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
+IV      Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor
+V       I lift my heavy heart up solemnly
+VI      Go from me.  Yet I feel that I shall stand
+VII     The face of all the world is changed, I think
+VIII    What can I give thee back, O liberal
+IX      Can it be right to give what I can give?
+X       Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
+XI      And therefore if to love can be desert
+XII     Indeed this very love which is my boast
+XIII    And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
+XIV     If thou must love me, let it be for nought
+XV      Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
+XVI     And yet, because thou overcomest so
+XVII    My poet thou canst touch on all the notes
+XVIII   I never gave a lock of hair away
+XIX     The soul's Rialto hath its merchandize
+XX      Beloved, my beloved, when I think
+XXI     Say over again, and yet once over again
+XXII    When our two souls stand up erect and strong
+XXIII   Is it indeed so?  If I lay here dead
+XXIV    Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife
+XXV     A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne
+XXVI    I lived with visions for my company
+XXVII   My own Beloved, who hast lifted me
+XXVIII  My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
+XXIX    I think of thee!--my thoughts do twine and bud
+XXX     I see thine image through my tears to-night
+XXXI    Thou comest! all is said without a word
+XXXII   The first time that the sun rose on thine oath
+XXXIII  Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
+XXXIV   With the same heart, I said, I'll answer thee
+XXXV    If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
+XXXVI   When we met first and loved, I did not build
+XXXVII  Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make
+XXXVIII First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
+XXXIX   Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace
+XL      Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!
+XLI     I thank all who have loved me in their hearts
+XLII    My future will not copy fair my past
+XLIII   How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways
+XLIV    Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+I thought once how Theocritus had sung
+Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
+Who each one in a gracious hand appears
+To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
+And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
+I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
+The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
+Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
+A shadow across me.  Straightway I was 'ware,
+So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
+Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
+And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,--
+"Guess now who holds thee!"--"Death," I said, But, there,
+The silver answer rang, "Not Death, but Love."
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+But only three in all God's universe
+Have heard this word thou hast said,--Himself, beside
+Thee speaking, and me listening! and replied
+One of us . . . that was God, . . . and laid the curse
+So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce
+My sight from seeing thee,--that if I had died,
+The death-weights, placed there, would have signified
+Less absolute exclusion.  "Nay" is worse
+From God than from all others, O my friend!
+Men could not part us with their worldly jars,
+Nor the seas change us, nor the tempests bend;
+Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:
+And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,
+We should but vow the faster for the stars.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
+Unlike our uses and our destinies.
+Our ministering two angels look surprise
+On one another, as they strike athwart
+Their wings in passing.  Thou, bethink thee, art
+A guest for queens to social pageantries,
+With gages from a hundred brighter eyes
+Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part
+Of chief musician.  What hast thou to do
+With looking from the lattice-lights at me,
+A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through
+The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree?
+The chrism is on thine head,--on mine, the dew,--
+And Death must dig the level where these agree.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
+Most gracious singer of high poems! where
+The dancers will break footing, from the care
+Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.
+And dost thou lift this house's latch too poor
+For hand of thine? and canst thou think and bear
+To let thy music drop here unaware
+In folds of golden fulness at my door?
+Look up and see the casement broken in,
+The bats and owlets builders in the roof!
+My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
+Hush, call no echo up in further proof
+Of desolation! there's a voice within
+That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
+As once Electra her sepulchral urn,
+And, looking in thine eyes, I over-turn
+The ashes at thy feet.  Behold and see
+What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
+And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
+Through the ashen greyness.  If thy foot in scorn
+Could tread them out to darkness utterly,
+It might be well perhaps.  But if instead
+Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
+The grey dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,
+O my Beloved, will not shield thee so,
+That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred
+The hair beneath.  Stand further off then! go!
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+Go from me.  Yet I feel that I shall stand
+Henceforward in thy shadow.  Nevermore
+Alone upon the threshold of my door
+Of individual life, I shall command
+The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
+Serenely in the sunshine as before,
+Without the sense of that which I forbore--
+Thy touch upon the palm.  The widest land
+Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
+With pulses that beat double.  What I do
+And what I dream include thee, as the wine
+Must taste of its own grapes.  And when I sue
+God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
+And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+
+The face of all the world is changed, I think,
+Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
+Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole
+Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
+Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
+Was caught up into love, and taught the whole
+Of life in a new rhythm.  The cup of dole
+God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,
+And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.
+The names of country, heaven, are changed away
+For where thou art or shalt be, there or here;
+And this . . . this lute and song . . . loved yesterday,
+(The singing angels know) are only dear
+Because thy name moves right in what they say.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+
+What can I give thee back, O liberal
+And princely giver, who hast brought the gold
+And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold,
+And laid them on the outside of the wall
+For such as I to take or leave withal,
+In unexpected largesse? am I cold,
+Ungrateful, that for these most manifold
+High gifts, I render nothing back at all?
+Not so; not cold,--but very poor instead.
+Ask God who knows.  For frequent tears have run
+The colours from my life, and left so dead
+And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done
+To give the same as pillow to thy head.
+Go farther! let it serve to trample on.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+
+Can it be right to give what I can give?
+To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears
+As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years
+Re-sighing on my lips renunciative
+Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live
+For all thy adjurations?  O my fears,
+That this can scarce be right!  We are not peers
+So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,
+That givers of such gifts as mine are, must
+Be counted with the ungenerous.  Out, alas!
+I will not soil thy purple with my dust,
+Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass,
+Nor give thee any love--which were unjust.
+Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+
+Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
+And worthy of acceptation.  Fire is bright,
+Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light
+Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:
+And love is fire.  And when I say at need
+I love thee . . . mark! . . . I love thee--in thy sight
+I stand transfigured, glorified aright,
+With conscience of the new rays that proceed
+Out of my face toward thine.  There's nothing low
+In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures
+Who love God, God accepts while loving so.
+And what I feel, across the inferior features
+Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
+How that great work of Love enhances Nature's.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+
+And therefore if to love can be desert,
+I am not all unworthy.  Cheeks as pale
+As these you see, and trembling knees that fail
+To bear the burden of a heavy heart,--
+This weary minstrel-life that once was girt
+To climb Aornus, and can scarce avail
+To pipe now 'gainst the valley nightingale
+A melancholy music,--why advert
+To these things?  O Beloved, it is plain
+I am not of thy worth nor for thy place!
+And yet, because I love thee, I obtain
+From that same love this vindicating grace
+To live on still in love, and yet in vain,--
+To bless thee, yet renounce thee to thy face.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+
+Indeed this very love which is my boast,
+And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
+Doth crown me with a ruby large enow
+To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost,--
+This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
+I should not love withal, unless that thou
+Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
+When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,
+And love called love.  And thus, I cannot speak
+Of love even, as a good thing of my own:
+Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
+And placed it by thee on a golden throne,--
+And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)
+Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+
+And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
+The love I bear thee, finding words enough,
+And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,
+Between our faces, to cast light on each?--
+I drop it at thy feet.  I cannot teach
+My hand to hold my spirits so far off
+From myself--me--that I should bring thee proof
+In words, of love hid in me out of reach.
+Nay, let the silence of my womanhood
+Commend my woman-love to thy belief,--
+Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed,
+And rend the garment of my life, in brief,
+By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,
+Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+
+If thou must love me, let it be for nought
+Except for love's sake only.  Do not say
+"I love her for her smile--her look--her way
+Of speaking gently,--for a trick of thought
+That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
+A sense of pleasant ease on such a day"--
+For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
+Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought,
+May be unwrought so.  Neither love me for
+Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,--
+A creature might forget to weep, who bore
+Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
+But love me for love's sake, that evermore
+Thou may'st love on, through love's eternity.
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+
+Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
+Too calm and sad a face in front of thine;
+For we two look two ways, and cannot shine
+With the same sunlight on our brow and hair.
+On me thou lookest with no doubting care,
+As on a bee shut in a crystalline;
+Since sorrow hath shut me safe in love's divine,
+And to spread wing and fly in the outer air
+Were most impossible failure, if I strove
+To fail so.  But I look on thee--on thee--
+Beholding, besides love, the end of love,
+Hearing oblivion beyond memory;
+As one who sits and gazes from above,
+Over the rivers to the bitter sea.
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+
+And yet, because thou overcomest so,
+Because thou art more noble and like a king,
+Thou canst prevail against my fears and fling
+Thy purple round me, till my heart shall grow
+Too close against thine heart henceforth to know
+How it shook when alone.  Why, conquering
+May prove as lordly and complete a thing
+In lifting upward, as in crushing low!
+And as a vanquished soldier yields his sword
+To one who lifts him from the bloody earth,
+Even so, Beloved, I at last record,
+Here ends my strife.  If thou invite me forth,
+I rise above abasement at the word.
+Make thy love larger to enlarge my worth!
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+
+My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes
+God set between His After and Before,
+And strike up and strike off the general roar
+Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats
+In a serene air purely.  Antidotes
+Of medicated music, answering for
+Mankind's forlornest uses, thou canst pour
+From thence into their ears.  God's will devotes
+Thine to such ends, and mine to wait on thine.
+How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use?
+A hope, to sing by gladly? or a fine
+Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse?
+A shade, in which to sing--of palm or pine?
+A grave, on which to rest from singing?  Choose.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+
+I never gave a lock of hair away
+To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,
+Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully
+I ring out to the full brown length and say
+"Take it."  My day of youth went yesterday;
+My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee,
+Nor plant I it from rose- or myrtle-tree,
+As girls do, any more: it only may
+Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears,
+Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside
+Through sorrow's trick.  I thought the funeral-shears
+Would take this first, but Love is justified,--
+Take it thou,--finding pure, from all those years,
+The kiss my mother left here when she died.
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+
+The soul's Rialto hath its merchandize;
+I barter curl for curl upon that mart,
+And from my poet's forehead to my heart
+Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,--
+As purply black, as erst to Pindar's eyes
+The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart
+The nine white Muse-brows.  For this counterpart, . . .
+The bay crown's shade, Beloved, I surmise,
+Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black!
+Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath,
+I tie the shadows safe from gliding back,
+And lay the gift where nothing hindereth;
+Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack
+No natural heat till mine grows cold in death.
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+
+Beloved, my Beloved, when I think
+That thou wast in the world a year ago,
+What time I sat alone here in the snow
+And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
+No moment at thy voice, but, link by link,
+Went counting all my chains as if that so
+They never could fall off at any blow
+Struck by thy possible hand,--why, thus I drink
+Of life's great cup of wonder!  Wonderful,
+Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
+With personal act or speech,--nor ever cull
+Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
+Thou sawest growing!  Atheists are as dull,
+Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight.
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+
+Say over again, and yet once over again,
+That thou dost love me.  Though the word repeated
+Should seem a "cuckoo-song," as thou dost treat it,
+Remember, never to the hill or plain,
+Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain
+Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.
+Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
+By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain
+Cry, "Speak once more--thou lovest!"  Who can fear
+Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,
+Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year?
+Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll
+The silver iterance!--only minding, Dear,
+To love me also in silence with thy soul.
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+
+When our two souls stand up erect and strong,
+Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
+Until the lengthening wings break into fire
+At either curved point,--what bitter wrong
+Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
+Be here contented?  Think!  In mounting higher,
+The angels would press on us and aspire
+To drop some golden orb of perfect song
+Into our deep, dear silence.  Let us stay
+Rather on earth, Beloved,--where the unfit
+Contrarious moods of men recoil away
+And isolate pure spirits, and permit
+A place to stand and love in for a day,
+With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.
+
+
+
+
+XXIII
+
+
+Is it indeed so?  If I lay here dead,
+Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?
+And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
+Because of grave-damps falling round my head?
+I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read
+Thy thought so in the letter.  I am thine--
+But . . . so much to thee?  Can I pour thy wine
+While my hands tremble?  Then my soul, instead
+Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range.
+Then, love me, Love! look on me--breathe on me!
+As brighter ladies do not count it strange,
+For love, to give up acres and degree,
+I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange
+My near sweet view of heaven, for earth with thee!
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+
+
+Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife
+Shut in upon itself and do no harm
+In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,
+And let us hear no sound of human strife
+After the click of the shutting.  Life to life--
+I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,
+And feel as safe as guarded by a charm
+Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife
+Are weak to injure.  Very whitely still
+The lilies of our lives may reassure
+Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
+Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer;
+Growing straight, out of man's reach, on the hill.
+God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.
+
+
+
+
+XXV
+
+
+A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne
+From year to year until I saw thy face,
+And sorrow after sorrow took the place
+Of all those natural joys as lightly worn
+As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn
+By a beating heart at dance-time.  Hopes apace
+Were changed to long despairs, till God's own grace
+Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn
+My heavy heart.  Then thou didst bid me bring
+And let it drop adown thy calmly great
+Deep being!  Fast it sinketh, as a thing
+Which its own nature does precipitate,
+While thine doth close above it, mediating
+Betwixt the stars and the unaccomplished fate.
+
+
+
+
+XXVI
+
+
+I lived with visions for my company
+Instead of men and women, years ago,
+And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know
+A sweeter music than they played to me.
+But soon their trailing purple was not free
+Of this world's dust, their lutes did silent grow,
+And I myself grew faint and blind below
+Their vanishing eyes.  Then thou didst come--to be,
+Beloved, what they seemed.  Their shining fronts,
+Their songs, their splendours, (better, yet the same,
+As river-water hallowed into fonts)
+Met in thee, and from out thee overcame
+My soul with satisfaction of all wants:
+Because God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame.
+
+
+
+
+XXVII
+
+
+My own Beloved, who hast lifted me
+From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,
+And, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blown
+A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully
+Shines out again, as all the angels see,
+Before thy saving kiss!  My own, my own,
+Who camest to me when the world was gone,
+And I who looked for only God, found thee!
+I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad.
+As one who stands in dewless asphodel,
+Looks backward on the tedious time he had
+In the upper life,--so I, with bosom-swell,
+Make witness, here, between the good and bad,
+That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well.
+
+
+
+
+XXVIII
+
+
+My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
+And yet they seem alive and quivering
+Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
+And let them drop down on my knee to-night.
+This said,--he wished to have me in his sight
+Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
+To come and touch my hand . . . a simple thing,
+Yet I wept for it!--this, . . . the paper's light . . .
+Said, Dear I love thee; and I sank and quailed
+As if God's future thundered on my past.
+This said, I am thine--and so its ink has paled
+With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
+And this . . . O Love, thy words have ill availed
+If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!
+
+
+
+
+XXIX
+
+
+I think of thee!--my thoughts do twine and bud
+About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
+Put out broad leaves, and soon there's nought to see
+Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
+Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
+I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
+Who art dearer, better!  Rather, instantly
+Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
+Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
+And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee,
+Drop heavily down,--burst, shattered everywhere!
+Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
+And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
+I do not think of thee--I am too near thee.
+
+
+
+
+XXX
+
+
+I see thine image through my tears to-night,
+And yet to-day I saw thee smiling.  How
+Refer the cause?--Beloved, is it thou
+Or I, who makes me sad?  The acolyte
+Amid the chanted joy and thankful rite
+May so fall flat, with pale insensate brow,
+On the altar-stair.  I hear thy voice and vow,
+Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of sight,
+As he, in his swooning ears, the choir's amen.
+Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all
+The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when
+Too vehement light dilated my ideal,
+For my soul's eyes?  Will that light come again,
+As now these tears come--falling hot and real?
+
+
+
+
+XXXI
+
+
+Thou comest! all is said without a word.
+I sit beneath thy looks, as children do
+In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
+Their happy eyelids from an unaverred
+Yet prodigal inward joy.  Behold, I erred
+In that last doubt! and yet I cannot rue
+The sin most, but the occasion--that we two
+Should for a moment stand unministered
+By a mutual presence.  Ah, keep near and close,
+Thou dove-like help! and when my fears would rise,
+With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
+Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies
+These thoughts which tremble when bereft of those,
+Like callow birds left desert to the skies.
+
+
+
+
+XXXII
+
+
+The first time that the sun rose on thine oath
+To love me, I looked forward to the moon
+To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon
+And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.
+Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe;
+And, looking on myself, I seemed not one
+For such man's love!--more like an out-of-tune
+Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth
+To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste,
+Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.
+I did not wrong myself so, but I placed
+A wrong on thee.  For perfect strains may float
+'Neath master-hands, from instruments defaced,--
+And great souls, at one stroke, may do and doat.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIII
+
+
+Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
+The name I used to run at, when a child,
+From innocent play, and leave the cowslips plied,
+To glance up in some face that proved me dear
+With the look of its eyes.  I miss the clear
+Fond voices which, being drawn and reconciled
+Into the music of Heaven's undefiled,
+Call me no longer.  Silence on the bier,
+While I call God--call God!--so let thy mouth
+Be heir to those who are now exanimate.
+Gather the north flowers to complete the south,
+And catch the early love up in the late.
+Yes, call me by that name,--and I, in truth,
+With the same heart, will answer and not wait.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIV
+
+
+With the same heart, I said, I'll answer thee
+As those, when thou shalt call me by my name--
+Lo, the vain promise! is the same, the same,
+Perplexed and ruffled by life's strategy?
+When called before, I told how hastily
+I dropped my flowers or brake off from a game.
+To run and answer with the smile that came
+At play last moment, and went on with me
+Through my obedience.  When I answer now,
+I drop a grave thought, break from solitude;
+Yet still my heart goes to thee--ponder how--
+Not as to a single good, but all my good!
+Lay thy hand on it, best one, and allow
+That no child's foot could run fast as this blood.
+
+
+
+
+XXXV
+
+
+If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
+And be all to me?  Shall I never miss
+Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss
+That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange,
+When I look up, to drop on a new range
+Of walls and floors, another home than this?
+Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
+Filled by dead eyes too tender to know change
+That's hardest.  If to conquer love, has tried,
+To conquer grief, tries more, as all things prove,
+For grief indeed is love and grief beside.
+Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love.
+Yet love me--wilt thou?  Open thy heart wide,
+And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVI
+
+
+When we met first and loved, I did not build
+Upon the event with marble.  Could it mean
+To last, a love set pendulous between
+Sorrow and sorrow?  Nay, I rather thrilled,
+Distrusting every light that seemed to gild
+The onward path, and feared to overlean
+A finger even.  And, though I have grown serene
+And strong since then, I think that God has willed
+A still renewable fear . . . O love, O troth . . .
+Lest these enclasped hands should never hold,
+This mutual kiss drop down between us both
+As an unowned thing, once the lips being cold.
+And Love, be false! if he, to keep one oath,
+Must lose one joy, by his life's star foretold.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVII
+
+
+Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make
+Of all that strong divineness which I know
+For thine and thee, an image only so
+Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and break.
+It is that distant years which did not take
+Thy sovranty, recoiling with a blow,
+Have forced my swimming brain to undergo
+Their doubt and dread, and blindly to forsake
+Thy purity of likeness and distort
+Thy worthiest love to a worthless counterfeit.
+As if a shipwrecked Pagan, safe in port,
+His guardian sea-god to commemorate,
+Should set a sculptured porpoise, gills a-snort
+And vibrant tail, within the temple-gate.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVIII
+
+
+First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
+The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
+And ever since, it grew more clean and white.
+Slow to world-greetings, quick with its "O, list,"
+When the angels speak.  A ring of amethyst
+I could not wear here, plainer to my sight,
+Than that first kiss.  The second passed in height
+The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
+Half falling on the hair.  O beyond meed!
+That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown,
+With sanctifying sweetness, did precede
+The third upon my lips was folded down
+In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
+I have been proud and said, "My love, my own."
+
+
+
+
+XXXIX
+
+
+Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace
+To look through and behind this mask of me,
+(Against which, years have beat thus blanchingly,
+With their rains,) and behold my soul's true face,
+The dim and weary witness of life's race,--
+Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
+Through that same soul's distracting lethargy,
+The patient angel waiting for a place
+In the new Heavens,--because nor sin nor woe,
+Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighbourhood,
+Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
+Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,--
+Nothing repels thee, . . . Dearest, teach me so
+To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!
+
+
+
+
+XL
+
+
+Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!
+I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth:
+I have heard love talked in my early youth,
+And since, not so long back but that the flowers
+Then gathered, smell still.  Mussulmans and Giaours
+Throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth
+For any weeping.  Polypheme's white tooth
+Slips on the nut if, after frequent showers,
+The shell is over-smooth,--and not so much
+Will turn the thing called love, aside to hate
+Or else to oblivion.  But thou art not such
+A lover, my Beloved! thou canst wait
+Through sorrow and sickness, to bring souls to touch,
+And think it soon when others cry "Too late."
+
+
+
+
+XLI
+
+
+I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
+With thanks and love from mine.  Deep thanks to all
+Who paused a little near the prison-wall
+To hear my music in its louder parts
+Ere they went onward, each one to the mart's
+Or temple's occupation, beyond call.
+But thou, who, in my voice's sink and fall
+When the sob took it, thy divinest Art's
+Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot
+To harken what I said between my tears, . . .
+Instruct me how to thank thee!  Oh, to shoot
+My soul's full meaning into future years,
+That they should lend it utterance, and salute
+Love that endures, from life that disappears!
+
+
+
+
+XLII
+
+
+My future will not copy fair my past--
+I wrote that once; and thinking at my side
+My ministering life-angel justified
+The word by his appealing look upcast
+To the white throne of God, I turned at last,
+And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied
+To angels in thy soul!  Then I, long tried
+By natural ills, received the comfort fast,
+While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrim's staff
+Gave out green leaves with morning dews impearled.
+I seek no copy now of life's first half:
+Leave here the pages with long musing curled,
+And write me new my future's epigraph,
+New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!
+
+
+
+
+XLIII
+
+
+How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways.
+I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
+My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
+For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
+I love thee to the level of everyday's
+Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
+I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
+I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
+I love thee with the passion put to use
+In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
+I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
+With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
+Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,
+I shall but love thee better after death.
+
+
+
+
+XLIV
+
+
+Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
+Plucked in the garden, all the summer through,
+And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
+In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
+So, in the like name of that love of ours,
+Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
+And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
+From my heart's ground.  Indeed, those beds and bowers
+Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
+And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine,
+Here's ivy!--take them, as I used to do
+Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
+Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true,
+And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine.
+
+
+
+
+
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+
+or filename 24689 would be found at:
+     https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689
+
+An alternative method of locating eBooks:
+     https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL
+
+