1 I thought once how Theocritus had sung
2 But only three in all God's universe
3 Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
4 Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor
5 I lift my heavy heart up solemnly
6 Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
7 The face of all the world is changed, I think
8 What can I give thee back, O liberal
9 Can it be right to give what I can give?
10 Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
11 And therefore if to love can be desert
12 Indeed this very love which is my boast
13 And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
14 If thou must love me, let it be for nought
15 Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
16 And yet, because thou overcomest so
17 My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes
18 I never gave a lock of hair away
19 The soul's Rialto hath its merchandize
20 Beloved, my Beloved, when I think
21 Say over again, and yet once over again
22 When our two souls stand up erect and strong
23 Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead
24 Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife
25 A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne
26 I lived with visions for my company
27 My own Beloved, who hast lifted me
28 My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
29 I think of thee! -- my thoughts do twine and bud
30 I see thine image through my tears to-night
31 Thou comest! all is said without a word
32 The first time that the sun rose on thine oath
33 Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
34 With the same heart, I said, I'll answer thee
35 If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
36 When we met first and loved, I did not build
37 Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make
38 First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
39 Because thou hast the power and own'st
the grace
40 Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!
41 I thank all who have loved me in their hearts
42 My future will not copy fair my past
43 How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
44 Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
| 17 My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes by |
| From Sonnets from the Portuguese |
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.
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This work published before January 1, 1923 is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago. |