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diff --git a/2002.txt b/2002.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..36e1d63 --- /dev/null +++ b/2002.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1401 @@ +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. + + + + + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE *** + +***** This file should be named 2002.txt or 2002.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/0/2002/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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