Sonnets from the Portuguese | Page 7

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, acid 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