Sonnets from the Portuguese | Page 6

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 counters part, . . .?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 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