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.
