Sonnets from the Portuguese | Page 3

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This etext was prepared by David Price, email [email protected]
from the 1906 Caradoc Press edition.
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