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OF THIS EDITION 500 COPIES HAVE BEEN 
 PRINTED OF WHICH THIS IS NO.. A 7.^ 
 
 C^O^Li JU* 
 
 <Th ' 
 
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly ? 
 Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy ; 
 Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv' st not gladly, 
 Or else receiv' st with pleasure thine annoy ? 
 
 [Shakespeare, Sonnet VIII. 
 
< Tv/'" v v/™' ; 
 
 THE WOUNDED EROS 
 
 bonnets 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES GIBSON 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 THE SPIRIT OF LOVE AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 printeb at tfre fitoer#be $tt& Cambri&0e 
 1908 
 
fl.tb 
 
 LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 OCT 29 1908 
 
 Copyright tntry 
 CUSS C*_ XXC, No 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 190S, BY CHARLES GIBSON 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 f 6 35" J 3 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Sonnet Page 
 
 A winged God, all powerful to-day . . . xxxviii 
 I. When in the realm of rich resplendent 
 
 thought i 
 
 II. I dare not tell thee half the love I bear . . 2 
 
 III. How shall I woo thee then, O fairest maid 3 
 
 IV. With kisses would I woo thee first and say 4 
 V. How shall I ever thank thee for the boon . 5 
 
 VI. Is it, in truth, a gift from Heaven's hand . . 6 
 
 VII. What winged boy hath caught again my heart 7 
 VIII. Something did tell my soul, though not thy 
 
 troth 8 
 
 IX. In what uncertain guise doth passion strive 9 
 
 X. With how distressed a sentiment my heart . 10 
 
 XI. Now, should I chance to meet thee passing by 11 
 XII. It is a strange and wondrous thing that 
 
 brings 12 
 
 XIII. I know not how to cast aside the power . 13 
 
 XIV. I saw thee yester-even, through the maze . 14 
 XV. Dost have no heart, sweet one, to visibly . 15 
 
 XVI. Dost cherish something in thy heart for me 16 
 
 XVII. How delicate a passion in the heart ... 17 
 
 XVIII. To me thou art an angel, born to earth ... 18 
 
 XIX. Is it then given to some, life's happiest hours 19 
 
 XX. Have I not loved thee truthfully enough . . 20 
 
vi CONTENTS 
 
 XXI. Shouldst thou, perchance, peruse these 
 
 simple lines 21 
 
 XXII. If love too oft repeats itself herein ... 22 
 
 XXIII. How true it is that every joy we feel . . 23 
 
 XXIV. Yet why repine ? *Tis he who laughs that 
 
 wins . 24 
 
 XXV. Oh, for the longed-for moment that might 
 
 bring 25 
 
 XXVI. Oh heart! hast thou no liberty to gain . 26 
 
 XXVII. Dearest of dearer things, that are to me . 27 
 
 XXVIII. For there is that in man which doth desire . 28 
 
 XXIX. Sweeter than are the flowers of spring, 
 
 that bloom 29 
 
 XXX. Consign me not, while honoring thy love . 30 
 XXXI. Was it with joy or with time's false relief 31 
 
 XXXII. Dost thou not feel some longing in thy 
 
 breast 32 
 
 XXXIII. Even could to-day have brought thee unto 
 
 me 33 
 
 XXXIV. Dear heart! why dost thou shun my own 
 
 desire 34 
 
 XXXV. What fault within me dost thou cultivate . 35 
 XXXVI. Loved one, though thou shouldst spurn 
 
 me as a thing 36 
 
 XXXVII. Didst have, for me, one fleeting hour of love 37 
 
 XXXVIII. Ah me! Sad fate doth overcome my soul . 38 
 XXXIX. And now what hope have I to touch thine 
 
 heart 39 
 
CONTENTS vii 
 
 XL. How often have I asked, through this past 
 
 year 40 
 
 XLI. Methinks the saddest of all pains to bear 41 
 XLII. As the wild waves roll o'er some rock- 
 bound coast 42 
 
 XLIII. While sad at heart, that thou wilt not give 
 
 me 43 
 
 XLIV. When clouds disperse, and sunshine fills 
 
 the sky 44 
 
 XLV. Should I return, and find once more that 
 
 thou 45 
 
 XLVI. What God hath made thee half of graven 
 
 stone 46 
 
 XLVII. Canst thou not feel the tragedy of love. 47 
 XLVIII. To-morrow I must journey for a space . 48 
 XLIX. For what strange purpose hath God sent 
 
 this longing 49 
 
 L. How little comfort is there in the thought 50 
 LI. For each long league that bears me far 
 
 from thee 51 
 
 LII. When last I saw thee, thou wert uppermost 52 
 LIII. O mighty Prophet, who dost signify . . 53 
 LIV. If thou hadst felt toward me as I to thee 54 
 LV. Like the soft air of summer is thy smile . 55 
 LVI. If every song I sing seems tinged with sad- 
 ness 56 
 
 LVII. Like the new moon, cold mistress of the 
 
 heaven 57 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 LVIII. Ah Love! Couldst thou but greet me 
 
 every even 58 
 
 LIX. Love is not passion; nor is passion love . . 59 
 LX. What subtle fragrance, like some passion 
 
 flower 60 
 
 LXI. Unto the sea my love I would compare . 61 
 LXII. There is a lovely avenue of trees ... 62 
 LXIII. Upon the highland spaces greet me, Love 63 
 LXIV. When the red sun sinks toward the west- 
 ern line 64 
 
 LXV. Whenever thou dost let a passing thought 65 
 LXVI. If in the years to come life bringeth thee 66 
 LXVII. Oh! when the cold, fleet-footed hour of 
 
 dawn 67 
 
 LXVIII. If, when thou hast found out that life is 
 
 sorrow 68 
 
 LXIX. With what despair thou hast inspired my 
 
 muse 69 
 
 LXX. How sweet to me are these soft days of 
 
 spring 70 
 
 LXXI. Thou earnest unto me last eventide . . 71 
 LXXII. Yet now I cannot with impunity ... 72 
 LXXIII. While thou art near to me, my spirit's 
 
 bride J3 
 
 LXXIV. While I gaze in thy dancing eyes, I seem 74 
 LXXV. In springtime, when pale primroses in 
 
 flower 75 
 
 LXXVI. With every day that summer doth con- 
 ceive 76 
 
CONTENTS ix 
 
 LXXVII. I know a path of velvet green, that sinks jj 
 LXXVIII. No time could hold my heart more fit 
 
 than this 78 
 
 LXXIX. Now love returneth with new grace to me 79 
 LXXX. Though summer showers drown the seeds 
 
 of love 80 
 
 LXXXI. Like columbine in May, or rose in June 81 
 LXXXII. Cold heart, that hath not felt some pass- 
 ing pain 82 
 
 LXXXIII. When thou, dear one, hast lived as long as 
 
 1 83 
 
 LXXXIV. Strange law, whose reason man doth not 
 
 possess 84 
 
 LXXXV. From Thee, Eternal Power, came my life 85 
 LXXXVI. My hope had been, that I might find in 
 
 thee 86 
 
 LXXXVII. God, through His offspring Nature, gave 
 
 me love 87 
 
 LXXXVIII. With some, the law of love doth work at 
 
 ease 88 
 
 LXXXIX. Let not the measure of my love make 
 
 thine 89 
 
 XC. All else may die : the leaves that Nature 
 
 bore 90 
 
 XCI. O thou, fair youth, to whom the gods have 
 
 given 91 
 
 XCII. Believe not, gentle maid, that all is won 92 
 XCIII. Love heeds not time, nor space, nor form, 
 
 nor woe 93 
 
x CONTENTS 
 
 XCIV. Happy my heart, and happier far was I . . 94 
 XCV. Strive as I would to banish from my mind 95 
 XCVI. Since on thy form hath beauty laid its hand 96 
 XCVII. In those brief moments when thou wert my 
 
 own 97 
 
 XCVIII. Let not thy beauty serve thee in the guise . 98 
 XCIX. When I alone unto my chamber go . . . 99 
 C. When all the world would smile in summer 
 
 time 100 
 
 CI. A little flower in my garden groweth . .101 
 CII. My love makes of my life a sad display 102 
 CIII. If in thyself doth all my love reside . . . 103 
 CIV. Though my true love should be my own 
 
 undoing 104 
 
 CV. Though thou shouldst not perceive how love 
 
 in me 105 
 
 CVI. To thee all life is but a passing pleasure . 106 
 CVII. Not clothed in transient beauty nor pale 
 
 health 107 
 
 CVIII. No mind have I to tell thee all thou art . . 108 
 CIX. Oh, Love doth play such wanton tricks with 
 
 men 109 
 
 CX. Not all the years of my uncounted pain . . no 
 
 CXI. At least thou canst not say I have not loved in 
 
 CXII. Often do I in meditation dream . . . .112 
 
 CXIII. If thou who readst this verse do find herein 113 
 
 CXIV. Yet ne'ertheless would I make holiday . .114 
 
 CXV. Oh! well have I examined my defect . .115 
 
CONTENTS xi 
 
 CXVI. Oh! what a thought hath filled my brain 
 
 this night 116 
 
 CXVII. And with the morn, though sunrise shall 
 
 disperse 117 
 
 CXVIII. Not every prince, nor king, nor emperor 
 
 liveth 118 
 
 CXIX. How shall I all thy virtues here recount . .119 
 CXX. T is strange, how little doth the world per- 
 ceive 120 
 
 CXXI. That which we have we value not to-day . 121 
 
 CXXII. Oh, chide me not, if in this life I make 122 
 
 CXXIII. If thou wert chained by the bans of life . 123 
 
 CXXIV. Thou art, in truth, my muse's only guide 124 
 
 CXXV. Back from the sculptured chantry of the 
 
 past 125 
 
 CXXVI. If all the value of my love is this . . .126 
 
 CXXVII. Oh ! lay aside thy pen, since thou must sing 127 
 
 CXXVIII. The Wounded Eros fell upon the ground . 128 
 
 thou, fair one, who never shalt be known 1 29 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 In these Sonnets, the author has set down the 
 record of a passion which makes one more of 
 those stories of the heart written by the poets 
 who have joined the company of Sir Philip Sid- 
 ney. The company of poets is a glorious one, 
 and the poetic stories are among the most 
 touching expressions of human experience. 
 
 We can find no difference between these great 
 chronicles of the heart, beyond the fact of love 
 winning or losing, except what time has made in 
 the fashions of art between the sixteenth and the 
 twentieth centuries. One cannot believe that 
 the complex psychology in the interpretation of 
 modern love makes that love essentially a differ- 
 ent thing in man's nature then in its more primal 
 expression, when social conditions were less reti- 
 cent and self-conscious in the tameless civiliza- 
 tion of the mid-sixteenth century. Here is the 
 ancient and immemorial love of man for woman, 
 whose only change has been the difference be- 
 tween Adam waking to behold Eve beside him 
 and the conventional introduction of the sexes 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 which the custom of the twentieth century de- 
 mands. The influence of time upon love is not 
 more literal in the science of sociology than in 
 the art of poetry, and one has but to take a 
 typical Elizabethan amatory sonnet-sequence 
 and compare it with Mr. Meredith's " Modern 
 Love," Mr. Blunt's "Esther," or Mr. Gibson's 
 "The Wounded Eros," to be convinced of this 
 opinion. The elemental note in the great sonnet 
 cycles, from Petrarch's to those of our own day, 
 being the realization of an objective ideal in the 
 opposite sex, with the interpretation of it varying 
 as human society progressed in its ethical, moral, 
 and political aspects, there remains — what has 
 always made the intensity of interest in this 
 poetic form — the circumstance of personality 
 giving tone and temperament to the particulars 
 of this episodic drama of man's heart. Apart 
 from any consideration of the perfection of art 
 in which any series of related love-sonnets may 
 be dressed, this question of the personal attitude 
 compels interest. It is the private chamber of a 
 human heart opened without reserve, for the 
 intrusion of strangers to behold the truth of a 
 bitter or joyous experience, as fate may decree. 
 
INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 In this book of sonnets, there is touched a deep 
 note of pathos in the unrequited passion of a man 
 who tells the circumstances of his own love. It is 
 so before all things, because it is the direct speech 
 of a heart without subtlety. I mean, that he 
 invents nothing that is illusory between himself 
 and the object of his desire. If subtlety had been 
 in the heart of this lover, one might have expected 
 more frequent verbal conceits in the methods of 
 telling his tale ; but the lack of them by no means 
 diminishes the importance of its human interest. 
 Indeed, the modern sonnet has gained in this 
 respect over its predecessors of the English 
 Renaissance. And in Mr. Gibson's sequence the 
 interest is entirely a modern one. 
 
 These sonnets of the "Wounded Eros" keep, 
 moreover, the dignity that belongs to the char- 
 acter of thought and feeling employed by the 
 best examples. If less abstract in any symbolistic 
 purpose, they gain narratively by allusions suffi- 
 ciently definite to link each phase of emotion into 
 a story, — the story old, but ever new, of passion 
 in a man's heart for a woman's love, — and the 
 character and progress of it unfolded in associa- 
 tions wholly spiritual. The one here celebrated 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 leaves us with the impression of being a myth 
 created in the fervent imagination of the poet. 
 Her vague personality hovers in uncertain im- 
 agery about the edges of the poet's metaphors. 
 One feels her influence behind the poet's concep- 
 tion of her virtues, her faults, and her physical 
 charms, rather than by gaining any perception of 
 her identity through speech or action. Yet it was 
 around a similar ideal, or vision, that Dante 
 and Petrarch wove stories of devotion and rhap- 
 sodic worship : and Shakespeare has been able to 
 mystify the curiosity of three centuries of prying 
 criticism and literary history. 
 
 Despite the revelation of the lover's heart in 
 this poem, the poet has veiled, if indeed she 
 exists at all in any world more palpable than 
 Arcadia, the object of his affection behind the 
 profuse chronicling of his own feelings. It is 
 through him the story proceeds for us; his nat- 
 ure acting as an impressionable substance upon 
 which her influence shapes itself into mood and 
 manner. Yet it is more often from memory and 
 recollection — the consecration of a dream — 
 that the image weaves its spell upon the wor- 
 shipper: — 
 
INTRODUCTION xvii 
 
 "Thou wilt not give me 
 Thy treasured self, more often than the time 
 Of every year doth change," 
 
 he declares; and for a maiden so obdurate in 
 denying those frequent meetings which are the 
 very Eden^of love's progress, we can plainly see 
 how the task became difficult in building the 
 illusion of love between these two people of the 
 imagination. 
 
 If it was the woman's indifference which led 
 to such arbitrary allowances of time when she 
 might be visited, we can begin to understand 
 from what source is taken the significance of the 
 author's title. The writer of these Sonnets had, 
 as the reader following his story will discover, 
 his love wounded by all the opposing fates of his 
 passion concentrating in the cruelty and vanity 
 of the woman he loved. That even in these quali- 
 ties of disposition, however, she was without that 
 self-conscious arrogance which intentionally 
 hurts the feelings of honest and faithful affection, 
 is attested throughout the entire poem by many 
 a gracious allusion. We are prone to consider 
 her innocent of any base premeditated wile or 
 motive; like Keats' Fanny Brawne, she simply 
 
xviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 lacked that sympathetic nature which was able 
 to penetrate and appreciate the true worth in the 
 man's heart which fate had laid at her feet. 
 
 "Tell me, in truth, why thou dost still seem fond 
 Of me, yet 'neath my heart dost plunge the knife." 
 
 This is the paradox in this woman's nature, and 
 a bit of real human nature it is of the gentler 
 sex, the attempt to delineate which has been 
 the theme of much noble music flowing from 
 wounded hearts. 
 
 What is the mystery in the perverseness of 
 such natures ? Is it the complexity in personality, 
 of which the possessor has neither knowledge nor 
 control ? Or is it the enigma of human nature 
 moulded into the subtler diverse forms of the 
 feminine sex ? Whatever it is, it offers questions 
 in psychology hard to deal with in any form of 
 art. That it can at least be handled with interest, 
 this poem shows. Mr. Gibson's theme works out 
 in its allotted way the immemorial conflict upon 
 the old battleground. All the forces of individual 
 character and temperament are levied in the pur- 
 suit and the evasion; and when in the end comes 
 the surrender or escape, — happiness or despair 
 
INTRODUCTION xix 
 
 in the heart, — there is still the same wonder and 
 mystery of it all, such as man and woman have 
 experienced over and over again since time began. 
 The end of this battle of man's and woman's 
 heart against terms of alliance with the opposite 
 sex is always, and has always been, inexplicable. 
 A force deeper than can be comprehended or 
 controlled — the vital preservation of the hu- 
 man kind — draws them by its inevitable laws 
 towards the completion of its wonderful purpose 
 in mortal existence: and yet the peculiar circum- 
 stances of man's intellectual sovereignty over 
 the destiny of his kind have set this purpose into 
 warring factions. 
 
 Man never ceasing to follow the sun of his life 
 in woman's heart, his brother shall never cease 
 to take interest in the story of an experience 
 which at one time or another has cast its sun- 
 shine or shadow over the daily routine of his 
 existence. In the hidden nooks and memory- 
 places of each man's life there abides the reality 
 or ghost of an ideal, with woman's hair and eyes 
 and voice, cloistered in dreams of virtue and 
 tenderness and inhabiting realms beyond reach 
 and concern of man's workaday world with its 
 
xx INTRODUCTION 
 
 practical and sordid interests. This ideal is car- 
 ried in secret hours when no man's suspicion can 
 detect the captured joy. It is far too holy a thing 
 to have its birth and growth revealed to the 
 unsympathetic knowledge of any whose hearts 
 are not likewise confined in the prison-cage of a 
 woman's soul. It is left for poets and romancers 
 to look into men's hearts and tell the world the 
 stories of these passions, for which life has given 
 them the capacity to feel and enact, but not the 
 subdety and precision of speech to express and 
 interpret. 
 
 The story of the "Wounded Eros" is, as the 
 reader will discover, the story of an oblation full 
 of inexplicable shadows. Certainly, as the lover 
 relates the progress of his suit against the ob- 
 stinacy and contradiction in the woman, — so 
 vague in all her influences ! — there is consider- 
 ably less of that heroic attitude in a love-passion 
 which we would be inclined to associate with one 
 who is so unreasonably ill-used. This man is 
 ever the optimistic lover in his despair; constant 
 — even unalterably persistent — in the hope of 
 ultimately touching and winning the sympathy 
 of her nobler self in the woman. True, at times, 
 
INTRODUCTION xxi 
 
 because of that unimpeachable self-respect, 
 which is the touchstone of all his dealings with 
 life, he cannot keep silent about her faults of 
 temperament. But the spirit in which he sings 
 of these obvious shortcomings is one to chasten 
 and correct that which does not so much offend 
 his own sensibilities as it blemishes and affects 
 the character and disposition of her womanhood. 
 What true man has ever yet been blind to the 
 faults in the woman he loved ! These deepen and 
 enlarge her virtues, since after all she is essen- 
 tially human beneath the divinity with which 
 the idealization of man envelops her being. But 
 all poets do not conceive the sex so realistically 
 in this respect as Mr. Gibson. Nor in this does 
 he take away anything from the exquisite fascin- 
 ation that surrounds them. He makes, instead, 
 more interesting and piquant those perverse ele- 
 ments in the character of this woman, which 
 furnish the episodical themes for his sonnets to 
 weave their unhappy design upon the loom of 
 his story. 
 
 I want to indicate here what seem to me the 
 important qualities in the poem, which are in- 
 tended both to carry on its development from 
 
xxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 one emotional phase to another of the story, and 
 simultaneously to reveal the peculiar personal 
 characteristics of the man and woman. I want to 
 mention them in their detached aspects, because 
 I think they are effective in an unusual way. 
 And while, after a close study of these sonnets, 
 I am convinced of their origin in the imagina- 
 tion, — that is to say, there being no likelihood 
 that the story is of an actually known experience, 
 — I am impressed with the note of sincerity 
 which will convince the reader of the poet's seri- 
 ous and honest treatment of his material. 
 
 In the circumstance which ensnares the man's 
 affections as he conceives them, the author finds 
 fate offering no atonement in the end for the 
 bitter trials of faith and patience endured ; and 
 in his art the poet offers no compromise to ap- 
 pease the sentimentalist. Truth is too insistent 
 of her rights. Logic is too tenacious, too piti- 
 lessly inflexible in its purpose of carrying the 
 intentions of fate to its grievous conclusions. 
 Not at any point in the poem is there the least 
 suggestion that chance will alter the fortunes of 
 this battle of hearts. Only through a heightened 
 sense of moral duty in the woman could there 
 
INTRODUCTION xxiii 
 
 come that strength of sacrifice which is the test 
 of noble characters, and change the final note of 
 despair into one of exultation. While, as I have 
 said, the author does not attempt to work his art 
 into false attitudes, it is, strangely enough, just 
 this hope which underlies his apparent resigna- 
 tion at the end. He seems somehow to entrust 
 Time to transform the alloy of inconstant youth 
 in the nature of the beloved one into the purer 
 womanhood of maturity, whom a larger experi- 
 ence and deeper knowledge of life will teach to 
 surrender her heart to his constancy, faith, and 
 unwearying devotion. 
 
 That there was a prophetic feeling from the 
 very beginning that the fruits of his affection 
 were to be bitter fruits, is suggested in Sonnet 
 VII, where he declares, "Come, though I pay 
 love's price in future pain." And yet, despite 
 this open-eyed acceptance of a task so full of 
 doubt, he can say in the very next Sonnet, — 
 
 "This pen 
 
 Now dedicate to love, thus born again 
 
 Out of thy breast. . . ." 
 He makes the dedication of his life upon the 
 altar of her heart with all its strange inconstan- 
 
xxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 cies. With unquestionable intention she has 
 lured him with the skilfully exercised arts of 
 girlish insouciance. And yet, while her conduct 
 is not exemplary, and should be lightly treated 
 as the dross mixture in the frivolous tempera- 
 ment of maidenhood, it is to be rigorously cen- 
 sured when it continues wilfully to exercise itself 
 upon the serious nature of a man. Although the 
 first thought one has, when doubt and dismay 
 have been the reward of affection, is to be merci- 
 fully emancipated from the emotions which still 
 make a woman dear, the heart cannot wholly 
 abandon the ties no longer recognized; and so 
 when, as in Sonnet XIII, he confesses, — 
 
 "I know not how to cast aside the power 
 That holds thy presence ever in my thought. 
 By night or day, thy coming once hath brought 
 Incessant longing for thee every hour. 
 Why can I not, in truth, then, overpower 
 This sense of something that is vainly sought, 
 And still content me with a friendship caught 
 From the occasional perfume of a flower ? " 
 
 we feel in this case that the compromise is made 
 in deference to the woman's lack of self-reliance 
 in being frank. "A friendship caught from the 
 
INTRODUCTION xxv 
 
 occasional perfume of a flower" — these lines, 
 the most poetic and significant in the poem, are 
 suggestive of a very subtle pathos; and obdurate 
 as we are in not excusing the woman's frailties, 
 we do pity her weaknesses, much in the same 
 way as our regretful pity spends itself on some 
 beautiful wild flower with faint and wasting 
 odors. 
 
 The flower of this lover's heart is one nurtured 
 by the sunlight of the world's opinion. It is not 
 sheltered in the quiet nook of pastoral inexperi- 
 ence with the ways of the urban world. Morally 
 unspotted, it is ethically tainted with all the 
 sophistication of its environment. As in Sonnet 
 XIV, she is seen 
 
 "through the maze 
 Of lights and worldly episodes of man," 
 
 it is inevitable that her lover should cry, — 
 "Shouldst thou, perchance, peruse these simple lines, 
 I wonder even if thy heart would be 
 Touched by the pathos of my love, and see 
 In them the attitude that love defines, 
 Unfettered by the selfish light that shines 
 Through many a worldly eye." 
 
 And in Sonnet XXIX, where he says she is 
 
xxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 "sweeter than are the flowers of spring," that 
 "give a delicate perfume unto the airs," he ac- 
 knowledges those charms which 
 
 . . . "surprise 
 My soul with smiles that banish every gloom," 
 
 yet regretting that one so bountifully gifted with 
 physical charms, and possessing all the polite 
 accomplishments of culture, should be under 
 those influences that are, like a canker, eating 
 the loveliness of soul from her young life. 
 
 "I would that I . . . 
 Might pluck thee from thy temporary bed 
 Of earthly pleasure, and possess the flower 
 Of thy young life, to keep it worthily 
 Within the garden of my heart." 
 
 Before it is too late he would pluck her from 
 her "temporary bed of earthly pleasure" — she 
 whom Love stands ready to transform into the 
 glory of her sex. The world, he tells her, is a bad 
 school, with all its deceits, rivalries, and petty 
 selfishness, and he who sees her comeliness 
 would protect it from ruin in the "garden of his 
 heart." With all his care and solicitude, with 
 his admirable and untiring sacrifice, she remains 
 unresponsive to the full hope in his soul. There 
 
INTRODUCTION xxvii 
 
 are the "blessed hours" she brings him, but 
 conferring them only to make him sadder for the 
 brief joy. For, " dying all too soon," they leave 
 him in 
 
 "pain 
 For many a day and weary week betimes." 
 
 Because she constantly rejects the pressure of 
 his suit, "Refusing strangely love's perpetual 
 flowers," which she will not accept, his whole 
 love seems vain, — 
 
 "Save for th' alleviation of my rhymes." 
 
 The solace he takes in rhyme is like an open 
 sluice for the pent-up emotions which he has not 
 been allowed to pour directly into the harbor of 
 her affections. But time goes on and finds her, 
 he declares, "false in thy profession of love's 
 leaven," and ever escaping from the persistent 
 assaults of a determined but irreproachable woo- 
 ing. "Yet ne'er lose hope, my heart," he says : — 
 
 "Thou shalt succeed, 
 So thou persist in thy true quest, until 
 All barriers opposing thee do fall." 
 
 And what barriers they were, obstructing the 
 realization of this hope ! Inconstant as the sea, 
 
xxviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 with an almost diabolical power to delude and 
 deceive, she seems to take infinite delight in 
 raising the most sanguine expectations only to 
 dash the joy in shattered fragments upon the 
 ground of despair. Take Sonnet LXXI : — 
 "Thou earnest unto me last eventide, 
 When the dull pain of absence had well-nigh 
 Made life for me one long-continued sigh — 
 
 Oh ! rapture to my soul, more sweet to me 
 Than glories to the conqueror of a nation ! 
 Behold my dry heart, moistened at the sound 
 Of thy dear voice — none dearer could there be — 
 And my sad soul, once more within love's station, 
 As thy fair form doth twine my heart around ! " 
 
 Here at last seems the surrender. Now that her 
 "fair form doth twine" around his heart, the 
 very suddenness of victory inspires even in its 
 joy a dubious misgiving; so hard won has it 
 been, that all the past anxiety and pain robs it 
 of half the exquisite realization the event should 
 bring. Whether it is this, indeed, or a spirit of 
 chastisement that the following Sonnet evokes, 
 one does not dare positively to say : — 
 
 "Yet now I cannot with impunity 
 Receive the gilded pleasure of thy love. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxix 
 
 God knoweth with what zeal for it I strove. 
 But when I feel love's sweet community, 
 It bringeth to me the lost unity — 
 The loneliness." 
 
 Despite the momentary doubt, however, the 
 next six sonnets are rhapsodic in celebration of 
 the perfect union of feeling that binds the two 
 hearts. "For love at last walks hand in hand 
 with me," he sings. And there seems to lurk in 
 all their association the atmosphere of a convic- 
 tion that happiness is finally to crown their lives. 
 But the charm is snapped. The woman has not 
 yet "drunk the cup of worldly pleasure dry." 
 Betraying his trust again, she proves the fickle 
 baseness of her nature. The wound she inflicts 
 promises to be deep and lasting. The bitter cry 
 in Sonnet LXXXVII, with its splendid opening 
 line, pierces the heart with sympathy for this 
 unhappy man : — 
 
 "God, through his offspring Nature, gave me love, 
 Though man in opposition saith me nay, 
 And taketh from my heart its life to-day, 
 As through the valley of the world I rove, 
 Still unaccompanied. " 
 
 From here on to the last Sonnet, the final stage 
 
xxx INTRODUCTION 
 
 of an unhappy experience is told in many keys 
 of emotion. Somewhat detached, in his resigna- 
 tion to the inevitable, the man now turns upon 
 his beloved a scrutiny of recollection which 
 analyzes her physical and mental lineaments, 
 and weighs each motive actuating her singular 
 conduct. Fair in his judgments of her virtues, 
 there is no hesitancy on his part to censure with 
 rigor her distasteful faults. The good and the 
 bad are so interwoven in her nature as not to be 
 superficially discerned. 
 
 She was a creature in whose nature contrary 
 rarities were combined, to exercise upon man 
 powers to excite the highest joy and the deep- 
 est despair. She was, as Sonnet CVIII draws 
 her, like "Satan in angelic vestment drest." 
 A maiden with wonderful physical charms, — 
 fair of complexion, from whose blue eyes shone 
 the light of infantile innocence, — snaring the 
 hearts of men to torture them with cold and cruel 
 wantonness. Living for herself, and in herself, 
 she took for granted the homage of the world. 
 Pleasure that came to her through other peo- 
 ple's suffering she accepted as the price due 
 one to whom pleasure was ordained at birth. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxi 
 
 She never cared to consider life seriously; exist- 
 ence was measured by her capacity for sensation. 
 One wonders how far in this she is a type of the 
 modern woman; or is she merely an exception 
 in the portrayal here ? But sad it is that, beneath 
 their frivolous exteriors, such women carry 
 tragedy in their lives as a gift to men. 
 
 "Yet love, though long unkind, hath taught me this, 
 That I may find expression on its page; 
 Though not the record of its perfect bliss, 
 Yet, something of its value to mine age, 
 Mixed with poison from the fatal kiss 
 That love still bringeth in its equipage." 
 
 The martyrdom has been suffered, and here is 
 the record! It is hoped that something of its 
 value — the lesson of its confession — may 
 become a contribution to the age. Every deep 
 human experience is significant of a moral. 
 How it may affect the conduct of those who 
 come to recognize in it an intimate and personal 
 admonition or justification, depends on how 
 deeply one's sympathy touches the subject in 
 hand. 
 
 The world of action is merely the concrete 
 presentation of the illimitable cosmos of ideas; 
 
xxxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 passion and pain, joy and sorrow, — the emotions 
 dramatized into comic or tragic speech, — are the 
 symbols of the phenomena of instinct, some- 
 where actively concealed in the vague origins of 
 the human family. Afloat on the swirling current 
 of existence, man's soul is tossed and buffeted by 
 the contrary influences of a rebellious primality. 
 Its forces in the development and growth of 
 civilization are recorded by history, demonstrated 
 by science, and analyzed by philosophy. But art 
 alone expresses and interprets it. Art alone con- 
 tains that contagious spirit which underlies 
 truth and beauty. It accomplishes this by an 
 essential sincerity in the artist; and find what 
 fault one will with the manner and method in 
 the composition which pretends to the function 
 of aesthetic presentation of life, this sincerity 
 redeems the work. 
 
 Little has been said here concerning the man- 
 ner in which this poem is constructed. The 
 interest of the substance was too inviting for one 
 to be lured into dissecting its form. Artificial as 
 the sonnet-form is, with all its limitations, we 
 have Wordsworth's authority for its many possi- 
 bilities. There is never any question of the 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxiii 
 
 merits or demerits of a poet's sonnets. If he 
 bends them to the purpose in hand, he achieves 
 his intention, and in this respect the sonnets of 
 the "Wounded Eros" are no exception. 
 
 W. S. B. 
 
SONNETS 
 
Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing. 
 Shakespeare, Sonnet LXXXVIL 
 
yf winged God, all-powerful to-day, 
 -*-/ As in the ages past, hath brought my heart 
 At once the joy of Heaven, yet, with black art, 
 The curse of Hell ; combined in this lay. 
 Therewith I must content me on my way, 
 As love its fate doth to the world impart. 
 And thou, who mayst from busy thought depart, 
 To read what I in falt'ring verse shall say : 
 
 If thou be young, let Cupid crown thy brow 
 With myrtle green, like love's perpetual wreath; 
 That thou but little of his wrath may know. 
 Or, if the years shall bind thee in their sheath, 
 And with old age thy locks do hoary grow, 
 In Heaven , thou shalt find what was lost beneath. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 WHEN in the realm of rich resplendent 
 thought, 
 The glories of love's paradise appear, 
 How soon do smiles dispel the midnight fear, 
 And bring possession of the prize long sought ? 
 Unto the banquet of the heart are brought 
 Fresh delicacies that to all are dear. 
 At such a feast, O lover, dry thy tear, 
 And think no more on battles that are fought. 
 
 Let all thy powers celebrate in song 
 This victory thou hast won from solitude. 
 Think not of sorrow's pall, nor fate's past wrong 
 That once delayed thy soul's beatitude. 
 At Hymen's court shalt thou reside for long, 
 Since thou art of love's crowned multitude. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 II 
 
 I DARE not tell thee half the love I bear, 
 Stored in this amorous bosom, oh, my heart, 
 Lest thou believe me mad, and we should part; 
 As with the one, whose love I first did share. 
 Stirred in hot haste my heaven to declare, 
 I wooed too warmly, while young Cupid's dart, 
 Plunged 'neath my breast, saw happiness depart, 
 Just as I hoped Love's magic crown to wear. 
 
 Long have I mourned ; yet now that thou art found, 
 My folly would repeat its youthful test; 
 Yea, with a thousand follies, at the sound 
 Of love, once more begotten in my breast. 
 Still hold me, Sorrow! Wisdom would resound 
 Within my soul, and whisper what is best ! 
 
SONNETS 
 
 III 
 
 HOW shall I woo thee, then, thou fairest maid 
 That e'er did stir a lover true to love ? 
 Fluttering its wings upon the air, a dove 
 Descends, the emblem of what God hath said 
 Was peace and love to every man that's made, 
 To seek on earth some emblem from above; 
 To strive once more for that for which he strove, 
 And see the truth of life before him laid. 
 
 Thus wouldst thou lead me to some higher way 
 Than man doth seek, to satisfy desire, 
 Fanned by the glories of this corporal form, 
 Made manifest by something that doth say : 
 Now let these senses thine own soul inspire, 
 And brave the turmoil of thy passions' storm." 
 
SONNETS 
 
 IV 
 
 WITH kisses would I woo thee first and say, 
 "Come to my garden, thou fair violet 
 flower." 
 Sweet is th' intoxication of thy power 
 That bringeth some new fragrance every day: 
 Nor these embraces would I gladly stay, 
 At my first thought and knowledge of the shower 
 Of the living evidences that empower 
 The loving to assume the lover's way. 
 
 But, lest thine own too maidenly reserve 
 Shall not requite the gladness of my soul, 
 Blind to all else but that which may preserve 
 The extasy of love's attained goal, 
 I must needs pause, alas! once more, and serve 
 Minerva's colder law and pay its toll. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 HOW shall I ever thank thee for the boon, 
 Thou winged child, that lifted thus my soul, 
 And quenched the thirst for love, that many a bowl 
 Of golden wine had failed, alas ! too soon, 
 To satisfy, from eventide to noon ? 
 For I, who lingered near some mossy knoll, 
 Received thy love-tipped arrow at its goal; 
 And bare the wound, rejoicing with a tune. 
 
 Then bind, fair one, with love thy wounded swain. 
 Give him thine eyes, but breathe thy soul as well 
 Into his welcome heart, that beats with pain, 
 Lest it should have an hapless tale to tell. 
 Ah ! Spare me that, my love, and in thy train 
 Shall Heaven be wherever thou mayst dwell ! 
 
SONNETS 
 
 VI 
 
 IS it, in truth, a gift from Heaven's hand 
 That brings thee hither, loved one, to prepare 
 My heart once more, for something that shall share 
 The worship which thy being would command ? 
 Behold me, Venus! Measured in the band 
 Of votaries, at the shrine and in the air 
 Of myrtle boughs and honey-scented hair, 
 That make of Love a pleasing fairy-land ! 
 
 Take me, mine own ! But art thou yet mine own, 
 Though on this couch that holds thee I recline, 
 To melt in sadness at thy very frown, 
 And laugh if I but knew that thou wert mine ? 
 Then temperance in thy love ! My heart, refrain ! 
 Let wisdom rule if victory should remain ! 
 
SONNETS 
 
 VII 
 
 WHAT winged boy hath caught again my heart, 
 To hold it now in beauty's fair embrace, 
 Who, with enticing attitude, the place 
 Of love once more hath wounded with his dart ? 
 Half fearing first, I begged him to depart; 
 Yet now, enslaved in love's half-hidden maze, 
 How can I, loving thee, my voice upraise, 
 And leave behind the vision that thou art ? 
 
 Come, then, sweetheart, and meet my own caresses ; 
 Come, though I pay love's price in future pain. 
 Greet me at eve with those delicious kisses, 
 That bear the realms of Heaven in their train. 
 Tell me of odors sweeter than thy blisses : 
 Then, only then, from love would I refrain ! 
 
SONNETS 
 
 VIII 
 
 SOMETHING did tell my soul, though not thy 
 troth, 
 That I might find in love life's pleasant morning, 
 Like lovely maid, some flowery grove adorning, 
 Just as in verse imagination doth. 
 The thought I treasured in me, nothing loth, 
 Yet never dreamed that I should find Love scorning 
 That which I gave; to spurn it without warning, 
 And crush the flower as lightly as a moth. 
 
 May I not yet with gratitude this pen 
 Now dedicate to love, thus born again, 
 Out of thy breast, and seemingly to stay ? 
 Thou fair divinity, adored of men, 
 To death I must consign my banished pain, 
 And find in thee the fulness of to-day ! 
 
SONNETS 
 
 IX 
 
 IN what uncertain guise doth passion strive 
 To work in men the mischief of their being ; 
 Even as Satan doth pursue them, fleeing 
 In fear from their own shadows, while alive. 
 Yet, from the realm of passion we derive 
 Something that with true love is well agreeing; 
 That he who once hath seen is alway seeing, 
 Tragic, yet like a flower that doth revive. 
 
 And thou, my own, whose love doth quicken life 
 To fragrant sweetness hitherto unknown, 
 Take me, but half unworthy as I come, 
 And rule my dear heart's dwelling as my wife. 
 By deeds the spirit of true love is shown, 
 Though passion still doth find its earthly home. 
 
io SONNETS 
 
 WITH how distressed a sentiment my heart 
 Doth think of thee, my heart alone can tell, 
 Nor easily interpret thoughts that dwell 
 Within this sorrowing spirit, lest we part, 
 To meet not as we have, with love's sweet art 
 Designing pictures in some flowery dell 
 That held those garlands which from lovers fell ; 
 For every time I think of thee I start. 
 
 *T is long since thou didst come, to make my life 
 A heaven of fleeting rapture in my breast, 
 Bright as the silvery star, that shines above 
 The firmament of man's uncertain strife. 
 Thou tookest from me all that I possest; 
 Then give me, give me in return thy love ! 
 
SONNETS ii 
 
 XI 
 
 NOW, should I chance to meet thee passing by, 
 That holy fear would overcome my soul, 
 Which poets speak of, as th' attained goal 
 Of love's ideal doth seem to greet the eye. 
 Still, would we ask our own desire why 
 We find love's bark oft wrecked upon the shoal, 
 That lies beneath the quivering waves, that roll 
 In cold deception of the lovers' tie. 
 
 The old familiar wound comes back to me, 
 My loved one; the neglect (though thou shouldst think 
 It scarce neglect) stings nightly my poor heart. 
 Each day is lost that brings no sight of thee. 
 Must I then once again this goblet drink, 
 Of love's sweet poison, as we drift apart ? 
 
12 SONNETS 
 
 XII 
 
 IT is a strange and wondrous thing that brings 
 Love unrequited to the human heart. 
 To me it comes ; from thee it would depart. 
 And all the while a stirring song it sings, 
 Bearing an undescribed refrain that clings, 
 In unremitting strength, like that sweet dart 
 Whose love-tipped messenger of life thou art. 
 It bears to me a memory that stings. 
 
 Must I then languish in remembrance of 
 Those treasured moments of unearthly joy, 
 That bore me to the realm of magic halls, 
 Where are reflected images of love ? 
 I trow, thou hast no heart to thus destroy 
 My own heart's happiness that from thee falls! 
 
SONNETS 13 
 
 XIII 
 
 1KNOW not how to cast aside the power 
 That holds thy presence ever in my thought. 
 By night or day, thy coming once hath brought 
 Incessant longing for thee every hour. 
 Why can I not, in truth, then, overpower 
 This sense of something that is vainly sought, 
 And still content me with a friendship caught 
 From the occasional perfume of a flower ? 
 Oh, lover! ask that question of thyself, 
 And answer it, in face of nature's calling : 
 If in all reason thou couldst satisfy 
 Such craving in thy soul. For I myself 
 Hold difficult the effort of forestalling 
 That which I most reluctantly defy. 
 
H SONNETS 
 
 XIV 
 
 I SAW thee yester-even, through the maze 
 Of lights and worldly episodes of man, 
 Filling the room with brilliancy, that can 
 So well adorn thy loveliness, and daze 
 My wondering eyes, each time I mutely gaze 
 On thee from far, while all thy treasures fan 
 This fever of my soul. Oh, cast this ban 
 Of fear from off myself and hear my praise ! 
 
 Yet, when at last we met, how cruelly 
 The fascination of thy careless speech 
 Pierced my poor heart, held in love's fell disease, 
 While I, o'erwhelmed by force of loving thee, 
 Unable wisdom toward myself to teach, 
 Did tremble in thy presence, ill at ease. 
 
SONNETS 15 
 
 XV 
 
 DOST have no heart, sweet one, to visibly 
 Perceive the romance of my life's desire, 
 To formally within thy breast inspire 
 That reverence for love, which is to me 
 The holiest element 'twixt those who see 
 The spiritual, earthly things attire ? 
 Thus, in my longing soul, I would aspire 
 To capture thy fair being finally. 
 
 Ah ! may that day be mine, before life's morning 
 Ends, all too soon, the power to attain 
 By physical endearment thy sweet soul : 
 Thy heart my own, and mine thy life adorning 
 With all the gifts of love, that appertain 
 To the ideal of love's own sacred goal ! 
 
16 SONNETS 
 
 XVI 
 
 DOST cherish something in thy heart for me, 
 Loved one ? Then give it, lest the time should pass, 
 And we lose something we should have. Alas, 
 How often is this futile aim to be 
 Destroyed by that still dangerous enemy 
 Of love's best happiness : the fatal glass 
 Through which the hours fall ? Ah, let it pass 
 Not thus that Nature meant that we should be ! 
 
 If, in thy character no longing comes, 
 For interchange of confidence or love, 
 How can love live, unnourished by the draught 
 Of that which forms the happiness of homes ? 
 If in thy spirit thou couldst but approve, 
 Then take this cup that willingly I quaffed ! 
 
SONNETS 17 
 
 XVII 
 
 HOW delicate a passion in the heart 
 Is this, conceived beneath the roughest form ! 
 Yet, while the sentiment of love is warm, 
 We feel the force of sorrow, should we part. 
 Thus would it seem to me, whene'er thou art 
 Occasionally ruffled by the storm 
 Of my desire, swiftly to inform 
 Thy spirit of the love which I impart. 
 
 Turn not thy head, fair one, away from me; 
 Nor at my words condemn the soul's desire, 
 That drives from man all thought of other things. 
 Torn by my passion, I would willingly 
 Cast all earth's treasures to th' eternal fire, 
 If I might once fly heavenward on thy wings ! 
 
18 SONNETS 
 
 XVIII 
 
 TO me thou art an angel, borne to earth 
 By some fair chance that fans the summer wind. 
 Thus would thy magic power upon me bind 
 The tendrils of my heart about thy birth. 
 There is, indeed, in thy fair soul no dearth 
 Of the divine incentive to be kind, 
 I veritably do believe, but find 
 Unutterable sorrow in thy worth. 
 
 An angel I have told thee that thou wert; 
 Yet thou denied the truth of my true saying, 
 That thou possessed the beauty of the gods. 
 Was it more true — ah, how my heart is hurt, 
 To half believe that thou, like Satan playing, 
 Couldst set at naught love's holiest periods 1 
 
SONNETS 19 
 
 XIX 
 
 IS it then given to some, life's happiest hours 
 To blissfully enjoy, in love's delight ? 
 Behold, ye gods! I look upon the sight! 
 I swoon and die, to feel that nature's flowers 
 Do, in my own experience, their powers 
 Of giving fragrance lose within the night. 
 Yet would my heart reveal the lover's plight, 
 And seek, in thy pursuit, celestial bowers. 
 
 Oh, tell me that thou art not cold and dumb 
 To my entreaties for one little part 
 Of what thou holdest in impiety! 
 Here at thy feet, I beg but for a crumb 
 Of love's own comfort, for this aching heart, 
 That doth deserve its full satiety. 
 
20 SONNETS 
 
 XX 
 
 HAVE I not loved thee truthfully enough, 
 Sweetheart ? How canst thou willingly deny 
 That through love's intercourse I did comply 
 With every whim of thine ? Couldst thou rebuff 
 The tenderness of love with paltry stuff 
 That men do flatter with, and thus defy 
 Far holier elements of life ? Ah, why 
 Dost thou prefer a hand still stained and rough ? 
 
 Is it not that, surrounding thee, are many 
 Who think less deeply than my heart would go, 
 To find a kindred being in the air 
 Of sacred treasures, that but few, if any, 
 Seek in this life (and thus their folly show), 
 While we might still love's habitation share ? 
 
SONNETS 21 
 
 XXI 
 
 SHOULDST thou, perchance, peruse these simple 
 lines, 
 I wonder even if thy heart would be 
 Touched by the pathos of my love, and see 
 In them the attitude that love defines, 
 Unfettered by the selfish light that shines 
 Through many a worldly eye. Perchance if she, 
 To whom my love is given, comes to me 
 In after years, while still my heart repines : 
 
 Ah then, how can I tell what memories 
 May not have saddened all that makes life cheery ? 
 How can I know, it will not be too late, 
 And that, by then, these loving reveries 
 Disperse with time, when I am old and weary 
 Of my stern race with life and sterner fate ? 
 
22 SONNETS 
 
 XXII 
 
 IF love too oft repeats itself herein, 
 These verses testify to my dear cause ; 
 To eagerly acclaim, but never pause, 
 In this belated quest, if I would win. 
 Let it not then be counted as a sin, 
 Should this one word occur in every clause, 
 That doth my heart describe with truth, because 
 No other dwells so fittingly therein. 
 
 For if not thus, how else may lovers speak, 
 Save in that self-same language, recognized 
 By all who have experienced the fire 
 Of love's sweet passion, which, though strong or weak, 
 Gives that with which all men have sympathized, 
 And still on earth doth every soul inspire ? 
 
SONNETS 23 
 
 XXIII 
 
 HOW true it is that every joy we feel 
 Carries its own full price of equal pain, 
 And brings to us some sorrow in its train. 
 I thought me safe from love, yet now I kneel 
 Before thy lovely being, and conceal 
 But little of that joy which I obtain. 
 Still what I have seems mixed with thy disdain. 
 How can I then unto thy soul appeal ? 
 
 If it is but the force of my disease 
 That makes me over-sensitive with thee, 
 And causes me to suffer at thy frown, 
 Or long thy fleeting anger to appease, 
 'T is difficult for my blind love to see 
 How best with jewels thy fair head to crown ! 
 
24 SONNETS 
 
 XXIV 
 
 YET why repine ? 'T is he who laughs that wins. 
 The careless, gay, unfeeling company 
 Of men who think not of emotion, see 
 Th' accomplishment of their unholy sins 
 Bring from the many an applause that dins 
 The voice of one poor soul, who lives to be 
 Truer to nature's homily than he 
 Who cares not how love's happiness begins. 
 Then let me sing with gayety and smile ; 
 Though hard it be to mask my agony 
 Of loneliness, when thou art otherwise 
 Engaged. Assist me, Eros, to beguile 
 This heart, that cares more for the company 
 Of those who would be neither great nor wise ! 
 
SONNETS 25 
 
 XXV 
 
 OH, for the longed-for moment that might bring 
 Thy soul in closer touch or tune with mine, 
 And, in the fulness of its love, entwine 
 Our hearts in one eternal praise; to sing 
 Love's paean unto God ! An angel's wing 
 Were better suited to thy form, to shine 
 In Heaven's brilliancy, and make divine 
 That which thy soul upon this earth would fling. 
 
 Whatever change of heart may come to thee, 
 Thou fairest of earth's flowers, my beloved, 
 Think not to find me absent from thy side, 
 In that blest hour, which I have prayed to see; 
 Nor shrink, from fear that I may be removed 
 From thy dear shrine, whatever may betide. 
 
26 SONNETS 
 
 XXVI 
 
 OH heart, hast thou no liberty, to gain 
 That which thou seekest so persistently ? 
 'T is now full many a year, insistently, 
 That thou dost search for love's maturer fane. 
 Art thou thine own to be refused again 
 By nature's rude requital now to thee : 
 This poor return for love's best gift ? Ah me ! 
 Why should she turn thy pleasure unto pain ? 
 
 'T is only then by loving me that thou, 
 Dear one, canst save me from eternal fire : 
 Unending grief from which I may not rise, 
 Save by the glad acceptance of a vow 
 From thee; to turn Hell's flame to Heav'n's desire, 
 That those who love shall win Love's sacred prize. 
 
SONNETS 27 
 
 XXVII 
 
 DEAREST of dearer things, that are to me 
 More dear each hour that my spirit grows 
 In its intensity of love, and flows 
 With warm desire; thy true love I would see, 
 Crowning that which I oft have wished to be 
 Th' attainment of my life. He little knows, 
 Who hears of me from enemies and foes, 
 How true is my own soul's sincerity. 
 
 For I had rather brave the fires of hell, 
 Than know that thou shouldst never come to me, 
 With love's embraces in thy fair blue eyes, 
 And that on earth I ne'er should hear thee tell 
 My grateful spirit, how thou mightest be 
 That which alone hath power to quench my sighs. 
 
28 SONNETS 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 FOR there is that in man which doth desire 
 Some time, in every heart, the play of love : 
 The emulation of his life above, 
 Before he came to earth, here to aspire 
 To something unattained, and feel the fire 
 Of untaught passion, his new being move 
 To sorrow, that it doth so ill behoove 
 The sense of love to suddenly inspire. 
 
 For who so harsh, that he denies th' embrace 
 Of beauty's arms about his melting form; 
 Or doth refuse the loved one's proffered kiss, 
 When, half reclining, she would seem to chase 
 All care from off this earth, in one fair storm 
 Of loveliness, whose presence is true bliss ? 
 
SONNETS 29 
 
 XXIX 
 
 SWEETER than are the flowers of spring, that 
 bloom 
 In all their fragrance underneath the skies; 
 Fairer than all those glories that arise 
 From earth, to give a delicate perfume 
 Unto the airs, that by their birth assume 
 New life and joyousness; I would surmise 
 To be thy charms, which frequently surprise 
 My soul with smiles that banish every gloom. 
 
 I would that I, one half as easily, 
 Might pluck thee from thy temporary bed 
 Of earthly pleasure, and possess the flower 
 Of thy young life, to keep it worthily 
 Within the garden of my heart, and wed 
 Thy true love to my own far greater power! 
 
3 o SONNETS 
 
 XXX 
 
 CONSIGN me not, while honoring thy love, 
 To the sad realm of lovers who have lost 
 The prize, that oft to them their life hath cost; 
 Nor send me from th* Olympian height above 
 This poor, imperfect life wherein we move, 
 Deep down into the nether world. At most, 
 Have pity on a lover that thou dost 
 Not have the heart to readily reprove. 
 
 My own, my loved one, oh, receive from Heaven 
 That which I pray for nightly, ere I lay 
 My suffering soul to rest! I would that I 
 Had power to give what Nature hath not given 
 To thy dear self, and that this looked-for day 
 Might yet be borne upon thee, by and by! 
 
SONNETS 31 
 
 XXXI 
 
 WAS it with joy or with time's false relief, 
 That I perceived the presence of thy being, 
 Clothed all in charm, once more alone, and seeing, 
 Beheld in thee both happiness and grief ? 
 For surely, Cupid, thou art but a thief, 
 To steal from" man his heart, and, with it fleeing, 
 Reduce him to love's penury, agreeing 
 The while to soon replace his lost belief. 
 
 Loved one, thou bringest with thee pleasant hours, 
 That, dying all too soon, leave me in pain 
 For many a day and weary week betimes ; 
 Refusing strangely love's perpetual flowers ; 
 Without the which my love for thee seems vain, 
 Save for th' alleviation of my rhymes. 
 
32 SONNETS 
 
 XXXII 
 
 DOST thou not feel some longing in thy breast 
 For an affection that on earth must play 
 The part of Heaven's imitation, yea, 
 The power on which true love must surely rest ? 
 How willingly would I thy spirit wrest 
 From its cold prison house, and wake to-day 
 Some sentiment in thee, that should not say 
 My love was but a visionary quest! 
 
 What power can make thee understand, that I 
 Do feel for thee all Heaven and Hell combined 
 In one magnificent emotion here, 
 And that thou mightest profit well thereby, 
 Couldst thou but recognize the love confined 
 Within thy heart, and cause it to appear ? 
 
SONNETS 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 EVEN could to-day have brought thee unto me 
 But for one fleeting hour, I might rest 
 In the enchantment of thy bliss, and best 
 Enjoy this marking of the years that see 
 A quest of love, that from my birth must be 
 The strongest passion stirred within my breast. 
 Still, though my soul this prayer to thee addrest; 
 Thou wouldst not to so slight a gift agree. 
 
 And yet, how little honor, fame, compare, 
 In satisfaction to this longing heart, 
 With one delicious moment in thine arms! 
 Tormenting vision of the holy air 
 Of heaven, from which on earth we soon do part; 
 While nothing the uneasy spirit calms! 
 
34 SONNETS 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 DEAR heart! why dost thou shun my own desire 
 To be with thee each hour of every day, 
 Each day in every year, and with thee play 
 The game of love thy beauty would inspire ? 
 I cannot now extinguish the sweet fire 
 That burns within my soul. To thee I say, 
 I am in an imperishable way 
 Thy faithful friend, whose love shall never tire. 
 
 Dost thou then fear committal to be mine, 
 Even for a space, lest scandal touch thy name ? 
 No thought is further from my wish towards thee. 
 To make our sweet companionship, in time, 
 Ripen to all that life may bring to fame, 
 Is my intention for thyself and me. 
 
SONNETS 35 
 
 XXXV 
 
 WHAT fault within me dost thou cultivate ? 
 What still reject, though I assure my heart, 
 That I am all thine own, and not in part 
 The man thou dost possess and captivate ? 
 Still, while I thank the gods, I would berate 
 The irony of nature that doth start 
 In me the wound that Cupid's fiery dart 
 Hath caused to flow, and mourn it, now too late. 
 
 Why must the mistress of emotion give 
 To one a portion of divine desire, 
 And to another an unending flow 
 Of love's untempered thought, that cannot live, 
 Save in some reservoir, that must inspire 
 The whole of thy fair being love to know ? 
 
36 SONNETS 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 LOVED one, though thou shouldst spurn me as a 
 thing 
 Unworthy of affection or regard, 
 Think not alone that vanity may guard 
 Thy spirit from the friend that thou wouldst fling 
 So heedlessly aside. For life may bring 
 Its own swift sorrow, sad, or cold, or hard ; 
 Then mayst thou think, perchance, of that young bard, 
 Who came to thee, his song of love to sing ! 
 
 And when thy heart repine thee, if it doth, 
 Take from my own the sorrow thou hast given, 
 Like to a travesty of happiness, 
 Devoured in its fulness by a moth, 
 That eats the leaf from off the tree of Heaven, 
 And leaves the soul of man in loneliness ! 
 
SONNETS 37 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 DIDST have, for me, one fleeting hour of love ? 
 Then conjure to thyself that thought again ; 
 Nor from its own sweet constancy refrain, 
 Till earth and air, and everything above 
 This hemisphere of human hearts, doth have 
 No longer any substance in its train. 
 Toward this ideal I willingly would strain 
 Each nerve, my soul from endless grief to save. 
 
 Sweet, honeyed flower, whose breath, to me divine, 
 Makes earth at once seem Heaven, that Heaven thyself; 
 Bring me the fragrance of thy scented being, 
 More full of fair sensation than sweet wine, 
 That doth entice new torments to myself; 
 And give to me what I, half blind, am seeing. 
 
38 SONNETS 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 AH me! Sad fate doth overcome my soul, 
 As the old year now passeth from my sight, 
 And many a hope lies dying with its flight, 
 To hear the death-knell of the hours toll. 
 Even as the sounds upon the night airs roll, 
 Death giveth place to birth, and Love's delight 
 Is born, in some young heart, that soon may plight 
 Its simple troth, and reach the promised goal. 
 
 I would that, with this old year, there might die 
 In me all sorrow, or desire to have 
 That which I may not soon possess as mine, 
 Or that this hour new-born might still defy 
 My own well-founded fear, that thy true love 
 Should never once through life upon me shine ! 
 
SONNETS 39 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 AND now what hope have I to touch thine heart, 
 As the new year brings joy to every land ? 
 What chance is there that thou shouldst understand 
 That which defies my power to impart 
 To thy dear self its meaning, though I start 
 To win anew with love thy treasured hand ? 
 Like some uncertain pebble on the sand, 
 I find me now, tossed by the waves that part. 
 
 Oh! canst thou not, sweet pearl upon the ocean 
 Of love's resistless power to possess 
 All men in its divine and fair embrace, 
 Perceive my unmistakable devotion 
 To thy sweet self, and give but one caress 
 That might so easily thy presence grace ? 
 
4 o SONNETS 
 
 XL 
 
 HOW often have I asked, through this past year, 
 If all that I have suffered did repay 
 My fleeting joy of Heaven for a day; 
 That made thy soul at once to me more dear 
 Than all else in the whole wide world. I fear 
 That, in my heart, I may not truly say 
 It brought Love's recompense within its way, 
 Or caused the lowering of Love's sky to clear. 
 
 And yet, although thou wouldst misuse my love, 
 Without apparently one real regret, 
 How shall I, loving as I do, despair 
 That thou mayst still, some happy day, disprove 
 The charge that stains thy name : soon to forget 
 That which thou wert the first one to declare ? 
 
SONNETS 41 
 
 XLI 
 
 METHINKS the saddest of all pains to bear 
 Are those which break in twain the lover's heart, 
 Which cling to life when love from life doth part, 
 And cause it to take sorrow for its share. 
 In vain do men go forth, in dim despair, 
 Seeking to extricate Love's poisoned dart 
 From some dark spot whence it would not depart, 
 And still return to find it fastened there. 
 
 O god of Love! Some mercy to thy swains 
 Show in the hours of agony they feel! 
 Couldst thou but suffer half they do endure, 
 Or feel in part the measure of their pains ; 
 With something, thou wouldst try their wounds to heal, 
 Or else endeavor thy disease to cure! 
 
42 SONNETS 
 
 XLII 
 
 AS the wild waves roll o'er some rock-bound coast, 
 And break in futile effort to possess 
 Something beyond their reach, I must confess 
 Am I in my fierce passion, that can boast 
 No more of thee than surging seas at most 
 Do find as they rebound in their distress, 
 Half-clothed in weeds and winter's sombre dress; 
 So often have I thought thy love was lost ! 
 
 Yet, at one little word or smile from thee, 
 These winter storms do change to summer seas, 
 And I am softened in a moment's time. 
 So would the magic of thyself give me 
 A sweeter sentiment, that still doth please 
 More than the summits of desire to climb. 
 
SONNETS 43 
 
 XLIII 
 
 WHILE sad at heart, that thou wilt not give me 
 Thy treasured self, more often than the time 
 Of every year doth change ; thy lover's crime 
 I still may countervail, while I do see 
 Thy lovely form once more, enclosing thee 
 Reclining in my arms, and leave sad rhyme 
 For power to rejoice, that love sublime 
 Hath still returned again to solace me. 
 
 If not thyself, let that remembrance come : 
 The holiest hour that I have known in life, 
 When all I felt were God and Heaven and thee, 
 To still remain, when thou dost leave my home, 
 That without thee is only a sad strife 
 T wixt my desire and that which cannot be. 
 
44 SONNETS 
 
 XLIV 
 
 WHEN clouds disperse, and sunshine fills the sky, 
 Then doth my heart think fittingly of thee ; 
 And I imagine that thou think'st of me, 
 As one who loveth for eternity. 
 Fair one, could this but be a certainty, 
 No longer would I crave in vain to see 
 The face of Heaven after death, but be 
 Forever on this earth while thou wert by. 
 
 Ah ! but such dreams of happiness disperse, 
 Like visionary clouds upon the air 
 That warms with sunlight o'er some summer's day, 
 And chills again, as doth my passing verse, 
 Whenever thou refusest Love's sweet lair, 
 To which thou know'st so well the only way! 
 
SONNETS 45 
 
 XLV 
 
 SHOULD I return, and find once more that thou 
 Wert willing to become but half my bride, 
 With what swift pace would I, in gladness, ride 
 O'er the salt seas or coursing streams, that plough 
 Their way 'twixt rocky chasms, and endow 
 Their passage with those dangers that betide 
 Love's course, as we pursue it side by side. 
 Sweetheart! What would I give to see thee now! 
 
 And yet how sad, this knowledge that I hold, 
 From past experience, within my heart: 
 That even should I be within thy reach, 
 Thou wouldst not make one effort to enfold 
 Mine arms in thine, cold maiden that thou art! 
 How then, at last, love to thee shall I teach ? 
 
46 SONNETS 
 
 XLVI 
 
 WHAT God hath made thee half of graven stone, 
 Half godlike, His own image to portray 
 That thou shouldst so continually stray 
 From every love-shaft that my verse hath thrown 
 For these long years toward thee, and still disown 
 The very sentiment that thou dost say 
 Moves thee to love, though in some other way 
 Than I to thee in my full heart have shown ? 
 Loved angel, of some sphere so far beyond 
 The sordid realm of this poor fleeting life, 
 That thou art some fair spirit clothed with form, 
 Tell me, in truth, why thou dost still seem fond 
 Of me, yet 'neath my heart dost plunge the knife 
 Of love's sad torture, and my spirit storm ? 
 
SONNETS 47 
 
 XLVII 
 
 CANST thou not feel the tragedy of love, 
 That followeth the train of thy delay 
 To give what thou hast owed, full many a day, 
 Unto my patient soul; that surely strove 
 Last year thy loving sentiment to move 
 Toward something higher than mere passion's sway ? 
 How canst thou then, in truth, to thine heart say 
 Thou hast fulfilled the duty of true love ? 
 
 I fear me that, like many, thou dost find 
 A cruel joy in breaking this poor heart, 
 Whose only crime is that it loves too well. 
 Dost feel no obligation to be kind 
 To those who honor thee, nor to depart 
 From evils that no mortal can foretell ? 
 
48 SONNETS 
 
 XLVIII 
 
 TO-MORROW I must journey for a space. 
 A year it seemeth, though a month it be ; 
 For in it thou remainest far from me; 
 Nor shall I once behold thy lovely face, 
 Whose coming doth so well my chamber grace; 
 But feel the hope, oft vain, that I may see 
 Some passing vision, or something of thee, 
 Which each new day I live doth grow apace. 
 
 Ah ! Thou didst come with others to my shrine, 
 Even as the sun did set this afternoon, 
 And give to me one of those rare delights, 
 That move my soul to lose itself in thine ; 
 Like some fleet harbinger of Love, that soon 
 Departs from me for many days and nights ! 
 
SONNETS 49 
 
 XLIX 
 
 FOR what strange purpose hath God sent this 
 longing 
 Unto my soul, for thy most precious love, 
 To raise it suddenly to realms above, 
 And then deliver it to one belonging 
 More to the realm of Satan's world, destroying 
 The fair ideal that all my life I strove 
 To realize ? Oh, cause me to remove 
 This spell that is no happiness employing! 
 
 Yet who that falleth in love's meshes knoweth 
 Why he hath fallen, or from whence he fell, 
 Or who in truth can understand love's reason, 
 Save that some joy and pain it often soweth; 
 The most of which we cannot always tell, 
 When they at first appear in love's sweet season. 
 
50 SONNETS 
 
 HOW little comfort is there in the thought, 
 Kind friends so often give love's bleeding heart 
 That love's sharp pain grows less whene'er we part, 
 And leave behind the prize so dearly bought! 
 Yet who doth learn this lesson he hath taught, 
 So that when love shall send its subtle dart 
 Within his soul, he may the same impart 
 Unto himself, and leave what he hath sought ? 
 
 I know but few, among them not myself, 
 Who practise this sad cure for love's disease, 
 That do not bear some wound, in after years, 
 More painful than love's wounding pain itself; 
 Or that do find elsewhere, what doth appease 
 The hunger in their souls, or dry their tears. 
 
SONNETS 51 
 
 LI 
 
 FOR each long league that bears me far from thee 
 Doth seem to take life's blood from out my veins, 
 As every yearning hour that passeth drains 
 The spring of my affection, that might be 
 O'erflowing with love's precious remedy. 
 Ah me! This is a grievous fate that stains 
 Love's half-possessed ambition, and remains 
 To overshadow all that rests of me ! 
 
 Loved one, I find not, as the world I roam, 
 A spirit half so comforting as thine, 
 Ev'n in thy moments of most wilful charm, 
 None that would half so fittingly my home 
 Grace with its presence, or from whose eyes shine 
 A sweeter light, while giving love's alarm. 
 
52 SONNETS 
 
 LII 
 
 WHEN last I saw thee, thou wert uppermost 
 In every thought that stirred my inner being, 
 In every act thy presence I was seeing. 
 And now thou comest to me like a ghost, 
 While I receive thee as some phantom host; 
 For every time I touch thee thou art fleeing 
 Far from the tempest of my heart ; agreeing 
 With some sad fate that happiness hath lost. 
 
 Now, though I strive to sever from my heart 
 Those elements divine that make thy love 
 For me the object of my life's desire, 
 There cometh that, which doth from Heaven depart, 
 To lift me once again to Heaven above, 
 And thus forbid that I should quench love's fire. 
 
SONNETS 53 
 
 LIII 
 
 O MIGHTY Prophet, who dost signify 
 To little man the vanity of life, 
 The folly of its temporary strife, 
 Give to the only one who doth deny 
 My love some passing sense, to gratify 
 The constant longing that is ever rife 
 Within my soul, and sever with a knife 
 This fatal cord, my love is fettered by. 
 
 With some such prayer to thee would I appeal, 
 In impotence, to strike 'gainst nature's law, 
 That causeth love unhonored still to live. 
 Before thy throne now humbly do I kneel, 
 As at the feet of her whom I adore, 
 And pray that love to me thou still mayst give. 
 
54 SONNETS 
 
 LIV 
 
 IF thou hadst felt toward me as I to thee, 
 Since the first hour that love knocked at my heart, 
 And I, unwilling, opened it in part, 
 Then would all Heaven's warmth have been to me 
 As noon-day sun upon some tranquil sea; 
 And every hour its blessing would impart 
 To both our souls, that never could depart 
 Till we had cast it from us willingly. 
 
 Then why, Sweet Love, should this not still be so ? 
 A great ideal perchance we both conceive, 
 And striving, each in some vain way, to find, 
 Lose youth's enduring treasure here below. 
 Why mayst thou not, then, in thy heart perceive 
 That thou art to thyself and me unkind ? 
 
SONNETS 55 
 
 LV 
 
 LIKE the soft air of summer is thy smile, 
 That, lighting on my sadness, clears the air, 
 To make this clouded life again seem fair, 
 With all thy deft enchantments, that beguile 
 The swains that follow thee for many a mile. 
 But with thy sunshine I find lurking there, 
 Something in thee that bringeth deep despair, 
 Seeming to savor of young Cupid's wile. 
 
 Then hath he not, mayhap, enveigled thee 
 Into the mischief of his lover's net, 
 And caused thee to torment thy swains anew, 
 With tricks, of which thou mayst the author be ? 
 'T would seem as if some love-snare he had set, 
 To wreck the lives of lovers not a few. 
 
56 SONNETS 
 
 LVI 
 
 IF every song I sing seems tinged with sadness ; 
 If every hour I think of thee I sigh ; 
 If I for love still grieve, ask me not why 
 I do not sing to-day in joy and gladness ; 
 Nor tell me, if not so, that it is madness. 
 For such strange action would my heart belie, 
 And from my spirit ring a love-sick cry 
 Against so fair a semblance of its badness. 
 
 If reason thou wouldst have, ask thine own self 
 Why thou dost keep me, in love's penury, 
 Upon the desert of my great desire, 
 And, like some oasis, receive myself 
 At distant spaces of its memory — 
 To burn my soul with an unquenched fire! 
 
SONNETS 57 
 
 LVII 
 
 LIKE the new moon, cold mistress of the heaven, 
 A silver bow delightful to behold, 
 Art thou, sweet maid, sweet both to young and old, 
 Yet false in thy profession of love's leaven ; 
 Untrue to one who, true to thee, hath striven 
 (Since first thy love thou didst to him unfold) 
 To keep thee from becoming chill and cold 
 As the swift snows that by the winds are driven. 
 
 At times it seemeth thou dost act a part; 
 Now to deceive the depth of my life's passion ; 
 Now loving as no lover did before. 
 Then suddenly within my soul thou art 
 Like some ideal that God alone could fashion; 
 But with the moon depart to shine no more. 
 
58 SONNETS 
 
 LVIII 
 
 AH Love! Couldst thou but greet me every even, 
 And let thine eyes lose those soft rays in mine ; 
 Couldst thou but share with me this bread and wine, 
 Or something of what God to me hath given, 
 Then might I feel, that not in vain was driven 
 This love-shaft in my soul ; for it would shine 
 With gratitude, and round thine own entwine 
 The fairest flowers that e'er were grown in Heaven. 
 
 Had I but thee to share my pain with me, 
 Pain would be joy, and joy that pain dispelled. 
 Were thy dear form beside me, night and day, 
 Then could I grieve no longer, but would be 
 So happy, happiness would be impelled 
 To change my spirit in some magic way. 
 
SONNETS 59 
 
 LIX 
 
 LOVE is not passion ; nor is passion love. 
 The two are twined together in some wise. 
 Love, spiritual, cometh from the skies, 
 Ennobles life and lifts our thoughts above. 
 Passion we find oft lurking in some grove, 
 Where pleasant sights draw forth our pleasing cries, 
 And where some bird of plumage round us flies, 
 While we, half knowing, through the shadows rove. 
 
 Yet, with these two, we find ourselves on earth. 
 One seldom doth the other disengage. 
 Strange combination of life's heaven and hell ! 
 That giveth unto man his power of birth, 
 And causeth him to claim his parentage 
 Whenever, or where he may chance to dwell. 
 
6o SONNETS 
 
 LX 
 
 WHAT subtle fragrance, like some passion flower, 
 Lurks in the petals of thy love for me, 
 That seemeth every day more sweet to be, 
 Thou beautiful example of the power 
 That nature hath, with loveliness to shower 
 Her favored ones ? I would that I might see, 
 In those blue eyes that show so much of thee, 
 Some deeper color, given as a dower. 
 
 Yet ne'er lose hope, my heart. Thou shalt succeed, 
 So thou persist in thy true quest, until 
 All barriers opposing thee do fall. 
 Ah, then in vain no longer shalt thou plead ! 
 But of love's welcome draft drink to thy fill, 
 And, in that hour, know life doth give thee all. 
 
SONNETS 61 
 
 LXI 
 
 UNTO the sea my love I would compare, 
 That shineth first beneath the morning sun, 
 And danceth with its beams, as if for fun. 
 Then as the clouds would turn them to despair, 
 The beams soon disappear upon the air, 
 Like fairy jewels, that away would run. 
 Then, as their beauty doth its surface shun, 
 It heaves as if it doth some sorrow share. 
 
 Far down the sea of mine own love doth sink; 
 But, soon returning on itself, a wave 
 Of real emotion rolleth o'er my heart; 
 And all that thou hast been to me, I think, 
 Is like some treasure I must strive to save, 
 And guard thee well, so thou canst ne'er depart. 
 
62 SONNETS 
 
 LXII 
 
 THERE is a lovely avenue of trees, 
 That winds its way o'er many a meadow-land, 
 And leads in time to the salt sea and sand, 
 Where I have walked and felt the summer breeze 
 Waft the sweet air that fans with perfect ease 
 The trembling leaves, the ferns on every hand; 
 A place wherein might sport some fairy band, 
 And in their gaiety my fancy seize. 
 
 In some such place would I find love awaiting, 
 Ready to guide me by the trickling brooks, 
 And lead me to some soft and rustic lair. 
 With thee, my well-beloved, would I be mating 
 (Like birds in springtime 'neath the shaded nooks), 
 The vision of thy love to my despair ! 
 
SONNETS 63 
 
 LXIII 
 
 UPON the highland spaces greet me, Love, 
 And with the fir and hemlock all around thee, 
 Twine thy fair self about my soul, and be 
 Therein the wood-nymph of my rustic grove. 
 Now dost thou fly towards me like some sweet dove, 
 Lighting from branch to branch, and willingly, 
 A group of blossoms bringing unto me 
 From the ethereal atmosphere above. 
 
 'T is in the air of nature then that we 
 Find through its simple pleasure love's delight, 
 Free from the turmoil that doth find its birth 
 In following the paths that others see. 
 Then would the stars illuminate the night, 
 And turn to Heaven the very things of earth. 
 
64 SONNETS 
 
 LXIV 
 
 WHEN the red sun sinks toward the western line. 
 That separates our vision of the sky, 
 And each soft ray far from the earth would fly, 
 To touch the clouds above the salt sea-brine 
 With magic tones and colors half divine ; 
 Then doth my soul seek thine alone, and try 
 These tears of disappointed love to dry, 
 Imagining that life on me doth shine. 
 
 Then in the clouds, o'er Love's blue sky, reflecting 
 The golden radiance of thyself, I see 
 Some likeness to the blood-stains on my heart, 
 That thou hast pierced and wounded, while rejecting 
 The sunbeams of my spirit, given to thee, 
 That hold thy glory, even as we part. 
 
SONNETS 65 
 
 LXV 
 
 WHENEVER thou dost let a passing thought 
 Inhabit the domain of my desire, 
 I wonder just how thou mayst then inquire 
 Within thy heart, as yet untouched though sought, 
 How great love's sacrifice, to have been brought 
 So strangely to thy life, and set on lire 
 The soul of one who doth thine own admire, 
 Although thou givest in return but nought. 
 
 Were it but given to thine eye to see 
 The splendor of love's passion in its prime, 
 Burning upon the rock of thine own being, 
 Nature might then increase her power in thee, 
 And thou might'st find a summit here to climb, 
 That would eclipse all objects thou art seeing. 
 
66 SONNETS 
 
 LXVI 
 
 IF in the years to come life bringeth thee 
 Some of love's sorrow, to carry in thine hand ; 
 If thou shouldst thus experience it, and 
 By its strange weight, be forced to think and see 
 What youth casts from it in its extasy; 
 Then only couldst thou learn to understand 
 How suffering hath held me in its band, 
 Since I first found how cruel love could be. 
 
 Ah me ! Though by this means thou mightest come 
 To know the value of love's equipage, 
 And in its chariot ride toward my soul, 
 I would not wish that thou shouldst know, as some 
 Like me have known, from youth to hoary age, 
 The price they pay to reach so dear a goal. 
 
SONNETS 67 
 
 LXVII 
 
 OH ! when the cold, fleet-footed hour of dawn 
 Awaketh me once more to consciousness, 
 My first thought is of thee, but with distress ; 
 And every thought that followeth (from morn, 
 Till night her robe of darkness 'round hath drawn) 
 Is still of thee, of thee I do confess, 
 Clothed in sweet love's most tantalizing dress; 
 Yet of love's satisfaction stripped and shorn ! 
 
 Then doth each hour in withered hope pass by, 
 Each day and week and month seem endless death. 
 And when thou answerest not my call to thee, 
 I watch, till hope dead in my heart doth lie; 
 For it would seem some evil spirit saith, 
 That I forever in love's hell must be. 
 
68 SONNETS 
 
 LXVIII 
 
 IF, when thou hast found out that life is sorrow, 
 More frequent than youth's careless jollity, 
 And when thou pay'st its bitter penalty, 
 And on thy cheek Time draweth his deep furrow, 
 Perchance thine own experience may borrow 
 From mine some of love's rare humility. 
 Then be not in that hour at enmity 
 With all that is most worthy of the morrow. 
 For so hath haughty youth in age to bow, 
 And unto life do homage for its power, 
 And grovel in great shame when it doth find 
 Its fancied value Time doth not allow, 
 Ah! then mayst thou not pluck so false a flower; 
 Nor say, "To me love hath been so unkind!" 
 
SONNETS 69 
 
 LXIX 
 
 WITH what despair thou hast inspired my muse 
 In these sad lines, my muse alone can tell. 
 For were I to describe to thee the spell 
 Thine eye hath cast upon me, thou wouldst choose 
 The power of raillery that thou dost use, 
 To shatter thoughts, my spirit would not sell 
 For those, far greater, which the poets foretell, 
 Oft in their verse Love's magic doth infuse. 
 But all that I hold now within my realm 
 Of art is thee, that art thy power alone, 
 To make my lines reflect the hours of spring; 
 Or yet again with sadness overwhelm. 
 For when thy heart seems graven, as in stone, 
 My holiest thoughts to earth their hopes would fling 
 
7 o SONNETS 
 
 LXX 
 
 HOW sweet to me are these soft days of spring; 
 But how much sweeter, did thy beauty bear, 
 Like cherry blossoms o'er the flowering air, 
 Its scented fragrance to me; and did bring 
 Some songs of love, like birds upon the wing, 
 To tell me that my love, with thine, might share 
 These lovers' hours, that in the spring appear, 
 And o'er the earth their efflorescence fling. 
 
 Ah, Love ! thy winter's waiting hath well-nigh 
 This heart of mine, for love of thee, so broken, 
 That it hath scarce the power to beat to-day. 
 'T were time, indeed, to compensate my sigh 
 At last with Love's unutterable token, 
 That shall not with the seasons fade away. 
 
SONNETS 71 
 
 LXXI 
 
 THOU earnest unto me last eventide, 
 When the dull pain of absence had well-nigh 
 Made life for me one long-continued sigh, 
 And given me but little hope to hide 
 The hideous thought, that never to my side 
 Wouldst thou again spontaneously fly. 
 Still, some o'erpowering contact bid me try. 
 And lo! success my efforts did betide. 
 
 Oh ! rapture to my soul, more sweet to me 
 Than glories to the conqueror of a nation ! 
 Behold my dry heart, moistened at the sound 
 Of thy dear voice — none dearer could there be — 
 And my sad soul, once more within love's station, 
 As thy fair form doth twine my heart around! 
 
72 SONNETS 
 
 LXXII 
 
 YET now I cannot with impunity 
 Receive the gilded pleasure of thy love. 
 God knoweth with what zeal for it I strove. 
 But when I feel love's sweet community, 
 It bringeth to me the lost unity — 
 The loneliness, when I no longer have 
 Near me thy spirit sent me from above, 
 To test through pain my soul's immunity. 
 
 Then, though this cup of joy be mixed with sorrow, 
 Once more must I drink of its poisoned draft, 
 Whilst praying unto God to purify, 
 With thy return of love to me, the morrow, 
 That holds the price of that which I have quaffed ; 
 And for all time my spirit satisfy. 
 
SONNETS 73 
 
 LXXIII 
 
 WHILE thou art near to me, my spirit's bride 
 Art thou. No mortal can possess thee now, 
 Loved inspiration of my life ! I trow 
 Thou lovest me while we are side by side. 
 No sorrow surely will this eve betide. 
 Love's heaven only our two hearts shall know, 
 And for one hour leave life gladly so, 
 As o'er the surface of love's lake we glide. 
 
 Ah, loved one! An emotion my heart swelleth, 
 Even as I worship at thy sacred shrine, 
 Which is the noblest life hath brought to me; 
 So great, so holy, that no pen e'er telleth, 
 Till God hath given man a sight of thee, 
 And shown him one who seemeth half divine ! 
 
74 SONNETS 
 
 LXXIV 
 
 WHILE I gaze in thy dancing eyes, I seem 
 Unable to imagine that thou art 
 So cruel as deep sorrow to impart 
 To one who holds thee in love's high esteem. 
 Who, from thy face, so like a child's, could dream 
 That such sweet loveliness did often start 
 In men love's worship, only to depart, 
 And leave them sinking in life's treach'rous stream ? 
 
 Yet such thou art, in character, my love, 
 Thou to whom I must dedicate my life, 
 Praying to God that He may still give thee 
 Some understanding of His realm above, 
 And make thee willing to become my wife, 
 Remaining in complete accord with me. 
 
SONNETS 75 
 
 LXXV 
 
 IN springtime, when pale primroses in flower, 
 Oft interspersed with blue forget-me-nots, 
 Are all in bloom, and the wild violet dots 
 The mossy field, while many a floral shower 
 Of new-mown hay falls in some shady bower, 
 Then my own heart doth, like new garden-plots, 
 Warm with the sun, that unto love allots 
 A portion of contentment as its dower. 
 
 Thus in thy haloed presence let me sing, 
 Lightheartedly, with thy dear hand in mine, 
 Through many a waving, daisy-scattered field, 
 Where summer doth succeed the reign of spring. 
 And let mine arm thy being half entwine 
 With roses, or whate'er the seasons yield. 
 
76 SONNETS 
 
 LXXVI 
 
 WITH every day that summer doth conceive 
 (Like some good mother, happily confined) 
 My love its simple homily doth find 
 In nature's soft rejoicing, and receive 
 From winter's sorrowing a just reprieve, 
 And think on thee with joy and pain combined, 
 When thou art absent, and of thy free mind 
 Return my sentiment, I do believe. 
 
 A sweet condition to my soul is this, 
 Bringing the blessedness of love from thee, 
 Commingling with my own long-felt desire ; 
 And giving something of thyself to me. 
 Ah, seal this thought with one delicious kiss ; 
 And let my heart to happiness aspire! 
 
SONNETS 77 
 
 LXXVII 
 
 I KNOW a path of velvet green, that sinks 
 From a fair hillside, underneath the trees 
 That blossom forth in May, and with the breeze 
 Shed scented flowers, all lined with summer pinks 
 That border it in petal-covered links. 
 It seems a fairy lane, well fit to please 
 Some lover's fancy, as the mood doth seize 
 The heart and lead in time to wat'ry brinks. 
 
 There with thee, Loved One, I would gladly stray ; 
 And wander o'er these grassy slopes, to find 
 Saint Dorothy's ascent to Paradise, 
 Uplifting, while ascending on our way 
 To saintly bowers, among the woods enshrined, 
 Where magic scenes our noblest thoughts entice. 
 
78 SONNETS 
 
 LXXVIII 
 
 NO time could hold my heart more fit than this, 
 The vernal month, when summer's early hours, 
 Fanned by faint odors from the newborn flowers, 
 Bespeak thyself, the thief of my heart's bliss, 
 And on thy cheek imprint the tender kiss 
 That bringeth love within young Cupid's bowers. 
 Thus would thy magic touch, with subtle powers, 
 Bring to my soul some metamorphosis. 
 
 No more repine, O heart ! No longer weep. 
 No more heave sighs, or, sighing, be cast down. 
 Nature her balm of sunshine bringeth thee, 
 That in its warmth thou shalt her treasure keep. 
 Let not my brow be shadowed by a frown; 
 For love at last walks hand in hand with me. 
 
SONNETS 79 
 
 LXXIX 
 
 NOW love returneth with new grace to me; 
 For why not so, since thou dost come again, 
 And bring fresh flowers of thought upon thy train, 
 That cause my spirit thus in heaven to be ? 
 Ah ! Couldst thou then but understand and see 
 What holier joys the heart, the soul contain, 
 Than thy poor sense of fleeting flesh could fain, 
 Thou mightest know love to eternity. 
 For as I would endeavor to possess 
 The fulness of love's wonderful attire, 
 The knowledge of thy spirit is more sweet, 
 For me to hold as mine, than that light dress 
 Encircling it, though filled with beauty's fire : 
 Thy lovely form, with every charm replete. 
 
8o SONNETS 
 
 LXXX 
 
 THOUGH summer showers drown the seeds of 
 love, 
 And flood the garden where its blossoms bloom ; 
 Though fiery suns do dry the yellow broom 
 Upon the bank, and parch the field above; 
 Though autumn's frost shall nip the flowery grove, 
 And winter's snow kill life in nature's womb; 
 Though men grow gray, and, tottering, reach the tomb, 
 And all else die, and life no longer have : 
 
 Yet will I guard thee in my bosom, dear, 
 And seek to gain thy spirit for my own. 
 For no such prize hath nature to bestow 
 That could so well disperse the shadow drear, 
 Or offer to this heart, that ne'er hath grown 
 Accustomed life without some love to know. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 LXXXI 
 
 LIKE columbine in May, or rose in June, 
 Like meadow flower, or clover in the morn, 
 All moist with early dew, that laughs to scorn 
 The sunbeam that destroyeth it at noon; 
 Like scented lavender or rue, that soon 
 Doth usher in the flow' ring ears of corn, 
 To wave in glory, ere the wind hath torn 
 Their emerald leaves, beneath the harvest moon : 
 
 Like this whole pageant of the season's time, 
 With all its glories rolled into one, 
 Art thou : the fairest treasure nature bringeth, 
 Through every year and every age sublime : 
 For in thine eyes the radiance of the sun 
 Could warm each flower and every bird that wingeth. 
 
82 SONNETS 
 
 LXXXII 
 
 COLD heart, that hath not felt some passing pain; 
 Some aching or desire to be together; 
 To wander hand in hand through heath or heather; 
 Or something that doth move the simple swain! 
 Were there not some possession thus to gain 
 Of love, or lover's wint'ry gale to weather, 
 As we do follow life, I know not whether 
 *T would be not best from living to abstain. 
 
 Then dead is he who hath not felt this joy, 
 This joy and sorrow mingled in his soul; 
 To seek for love, and feel its kindling flame, 
 That doth old age and youth at once annoy, 
 Yet holy treasures toward their threshold roll ; 
 For lovers' tears and smiles are oft the same. 
 
SONNETS 83 
 
 LXXXIII 
 
 WHEN thou, dear one, hast lived as long as I, 
 And seen the world give treasures unto youth 
 (Like some swift river, rushing to its mouth), 
 And drunk the cup of worldly pleasure dry, 
 And felt enjoyment passing with a sigh, 
 And in the night seen goblins all uncouth 
 Dance round the corse of pleasure, dead in truth, 
 And in thine heart is echoed sorrow's cry: 
 
 Then mayst thou come, with me, Love, to believe 
 That better than all else, is to obtain 
 The heart's affection of one single being, 
 That unto thee like adamant may cleave; 
 And lighten on its way life's palsied pain; 
 So that love's heaven thou art alway seeing. 
 
84 SONNETS 
 
 LXXXIV 
 
 STRANGE law, whose reason man doth not pos- 
 sess, 
 That underlieth every age and clime, 
 That every human bosom must sometime 
 Its presence and its influence confess! 
 Whether in youth's own gay and careless dress, 
 Or when old age doth feel the weight of Time, 
 Or art describe, or poet paint with rhyme, 
 Or warrior bold, or maiden in distress : 
 
 This law of love its course must e'er pursue, 
 And join two spirits in eternal bliss; 
 Or each torment, with unresponsive thought, 
 One loving, one love wishing to undo. 
 Oh ! may I not find love with thee like this, 
 But still obtain what I so long have sought! 
 
SONNETS 85 
 
 LXXXV 
 
 FROM Thee, Eternal Power, came my life, 
 And by Thee was love born within my soul. 
 Since I have felt Time and the hours toll, 
 And have experienced my heart at strife, 
 And felt it severed oft, as with a knife, 
 I must with one good thought myself console. 
 For since I may not consummate the whole, 
 Nor reach the fulness of love when 't is ripe ; 
 
 Then ne'ertheless have I account to give 
 When, unfulfilled in happiness, my days 
 In number cease and I on high must go, 
 To render unto Thee the life I live. 
 So be it then, that in these passing lays 
 I prove not faithless to the things I know. 
 
86 SONNETS 
 
 LXXXVI 
 
 MY hope had been, that I might find in thee 
 The soul's ideal, as my love's recompense, 
 That Heaven her fairest flowers might dispense, 
 In prodigal profusion unto me. 
 But with Reality's cold eyes I see 
 How different doth fate, in truth, compense 
 The disappointment of love's blighted sense; 
 And turn to rhymes the hope that cannot be. 
 
 Oh, if thou shouldst outlive my broken heart, 
 And in compassion see thy lover dead, 
 And once behold on earth his crumbling bones, 
 Thou wouldst find in these living lines a part 
 Of what thou hast flung from thee, and must read 
 Love's epitaph upon the moss-grown stones. 
 
SONNETS 87 
 
 LXXXVII 
 
 GOD, through his offspring Nature, gave me love, 
 Though man in opposition saith me nay, 
 And taketh from my heart its life to-day, 
 As through the valley of the world I rove. 
 Still unaccompanied, within the grove 
 That doth enamored beings hold at play, 
 My spirit must pursue its lonely way, 
 And strive to pluck some flowers that bloom above. 
 
 Oh, wherefore then doth Nature give desire 
 To have that which mankind may not possess, 
 And force him to endure on earth hell's fire, 
 And live in one perpetual distress ? 
 Some evil power must such love inspire, 
 And with it masquerade in Cupid's dress! 
 
88 SONNETS 
 
 LXXXVIII 
 
 WITH some, the law of love doth work at ease 
 To some it doth seem oft to make amends. 
 To some the power of giving birth it sends ; 
 To others the dull pain of a disease. 
 And yet how few this passion seems to please. 
 At first its force to extasy it lends, 
 Then deep into the depth of grief descends, 
 And on the beauty of the soul doth seize. 
 
 Yet, on the whole love is a mad possession, 
 Taking from men the peacefulness of life, 
 Bewild'ring warfare, with the heart's obsession, 
 That turneth Heaven into ceaseless strife, 
 Now seeking love's increase, now its repression, 
 Until the maid be merged into the wife. 
 
SONNETS 89 
 
 LXXXIX 
 
 LET not the measure of my love make thine 
 Aught else but as it should be, true and sweet, 
 Fair youth, who first thy sweetheart's eye shall meet, 
 Though thou mayst read the tragedy of mine. 
 Oh, in thy heart make ready Cupid's shrine. 
 Prepare thy lips, that shall thy mistress greet, 
 For kisses that denial may defeat, 
 And on Love's altar pour Love's sacred wine. 
 
 Let myrtle crown thy brow, lest, like my fate, 
 Thou mayst find poison mingled in thy veins. 
 Make lasting thine embrace, ere 't is too late, 
 And worms creep in, and mould leave deathly stains. 
 Then may youth's sunshine warm thy chosen mate ; 
 For nought so sweet as love through life remains. 
 
go SONNETS 
 
 XC 
 
 ALL else may die : the leaves that Nature bore 
 In springtime soon may hear the autumn's knell, 
 And men likewise feel death's o'erpowering spell; 
 Ripe youth may fall, and age in time grow hoar; 
 The moon doth wane, the sun sink from the shore; 
 Fresh flowers fade, and lose their sweetest smell; 
 Birds and their songs may vanish in the dell, 
 And crumbling stones of cities be no more. 
 
 Still shall my love, like love eternal, be 
 Untouched by time; yet chastened by despair, 
 And treasured in my heart, as all may see, 
 Who would likewise their own true love declare. 
 Thus in my soul, dear heart, would I hold thee 
 Till God love's injury at last repair. 
 
SONNETS 91 
 
 XCI 
 
 OTHOU, fair youth, to whom the gods have given 
 The gift of beauty and the power of love, 
 Forget not that which cometh from above, 
 And that affection is the child of Heaven. 
 Remember in these lines, that I have striven 
 To make thee honest, when, through Cupid's grove 
 Thou dost with some fair maiden lightly rove, 
 Not caring by what passion she be driven. 
 
 For what thou hast thou holdest but in trust, 
 Account of which thou must give when thou diest : 
 To honor those, though thou mayst love them not, 
 Who love thy soul, when flesh may turn to dust. 
 For if to honor love thou rightly triest, 
 Thy name shall live on earth without a blot. 
 
92 SONNETS 
 
 XCII 
 
 BELIEVE not, gentle maid, that all is won 
 When first thou dost behold thy lover dear; 
 Nor yet that all thy path lies fair and clear 
 From love's first charm until its work be done. 
 A fickle child thou comest thereupon, 
 Whom thou mayst learn in time to view with fear. 
 Cupid, though young, may cast a shadow drear, 
 Whose chilling gloom shall hide thee from the sun. 
 
 A lovely valley may thy footsteps lure, 
 All filled with flowers that for the fair are grown, 
 Yet 'neath its depth lie pitfalls for the pure, 
 And deep contagions that are oft unknown. 
 Then happy art thou if thou holdst love sure, 
 Thus to escape the menace of his frown. 
 
SONNETS 93 
 
 XCIII 
 
 LOVE heeds not time, nor space, nor form, nor woe, 
 The seasons, slain by Cupid's arrows, fade 
 Like misty spectres; and the night, remade, 
 Gives place once more to day's unceasing show. 
 The past gave joy; the future pain must know. 
 Reflection of itself makes love, 't is said, 
 Mirror the beauty of its thought, repaid 
 A thousand times to lovers when they go. 
 
 For which is most, experience or thought ? 
 Anticipation or sweet memory ? 
 The preparation for what love once brought ; 
 Or last, the dwelling on delight passed by ? 
 All these love still commands, through battles fought 
 With passion, lust, desire, and life's stern cry. 
 
94 SONNETS 
 
 XCIV 
 
 HAPPY my heart, and happier far was I, 
 When ignorant of love's entanglement ; 
 When I knew not its art or blandishment, 
 And fearless passed young Cupid lightly by. 
 Oh, happy hour! How vainly do I try 
 To now regain my freedom, and repent 
 The days, the hours, the years that have been spent 
 In giving birth to an unanswered cry! 
 
 No. Not in the review of my life's sin 
 Have I found punishment, or court, or trial, 
 Or sentence of mankind, or prison wherein 
 I might drink drops of poison from a phial, 
 Or retribution that could half begin 
 To be so bitter as love's cold denial. 
 
SONNETS 95 
 
 XCV 
 
 STRIVE as I would to banish from my mind 
 The witchery that thy fair presence giveth, 
 I cannot kill the flower of love that liveth, 
 By that same witchery, or leave behind 
 The subtle fragrance that doth still remind 
 My soul of one whose song forever singeth, 
 Like some inhabitant of air that wingeth 
 Above those treasures that on earth we find. 
 
 For it is oft — as I indeed am now — 
 With those who trample love beneath the heart. 
 The more they seek to kill, or lay it low, 
 The more it liveth with new-fashioned art, 
 That causeth it, unwelcomed, still to grow, 
 And thus deny that from it they shall part. 
 
96 SONNETS 
 
 XCVI 
 
 SINCE on thy form hath beauty laid its hand, 
 And set its snare for thee and me likewise, 
 Yet taught thee the Soul's beauty to despise ; 
 And given thee no power to understand 
 The reason or the influence that planned 
 The depth of life, yet still to temporize ; 
 How is such wanton thought to harmonize 
 With love's fierce fire by my strong passion fanned ? 
 
 O ! Waste not then thy beauty in its youth ; 
 But turn it to account, lest thine own end 
 Shall find thee, left without an hair or tooth, 
 All stripped of nature's charm, which now may lend 
 Its power, for thee to reproduce the truth 
 Of that same beauty thou wouldst lightly spend. 
 
SONNETS 97 
 
 XCVII 
 
 IN those brief moments when thou wert my own, 
 I drank a poison deadlier to my heart 
 Than that which toucheth every vital part, 
 And causeth man to tremble and to moan 
 Until the seeds of death be fairly sown, 
 And he in palsied attitude doth start 
 To rise, before his spirit shall depart, 
 And utter on this earth its final groan. 
 
 That poison was love's undisguised belief 
 That I had found eternal happiness, 
 True freedom from all ill, and true relief 
 From weary waiting and from loneliness. 
 Ah! Cruel fate! Thou gavest but new grief, 
 When I believed that Heaven my life would bless! 
 
98 SONNETS 
 
 XCVIII 
 
 LET not thy beauty serve thee in the guise 
 Of some dark power, as it hath in the past. 
 Make for thyself some beauty that may last, 
 And for thy friends some gratitude likewise. 
 Best that they should applaud thee to the skies, 
 Than in old age thou shouldst aside be cast, 
 And when thou diest be but death's repast: 
 Nought but cold clay (from which the soul should rise). 
 
 Forget not that thy flesh must soon expire, 
 And thy youth's veil from off thy face be torn. 
 Then must thou from deception soon retire, 
 When outward beauty is by time outworn. 
 Oh ! I would see thy soul by love reborn : 
 Thou for thyself; I for my heart's desire. 
 
SONNETS 99 
 
 XCIX 
 
 WHEN I alone unto my chamber go, 
 To fold the shroud of night about my heart, 
 And mourn an empty day that doth depart; 
 And with sad thought compose my spirit so; 
 There cometh to me the dear form I know; 
 And, conjured with imagination's art, 
 It bringeth thee, so living, that I start; 
 And my glad tears upon thy bosom flow. 
 
 But oh, for shame ! That not thyself entire 
 Be mine, as thou shouldst be, instead of this! 
 On earth both flesh and spirit hold empire, 
 Wherein is man the vassal of a kiss. 
 Yet nature must I thank, as I retire, 
 That though I hold thee not I know thy bliss. 
 
ioo SONNETS 
 
 WHEN all the world would smile in summer 
 time, 
 And bear the train of nature's equipage ; 
 And love appeareth, as an appanage, 
 To make each lover's atmosphere sublime; 
 Then would I take this pen and form a rhyme, 
 That singeth of my three years' vassalage 
 (Still held in love's unwilling peonage), 
 That doth my spirit and my heart begrime. 
 
 For how could love exalt, which hath, for long, 
 Reduced me to so destitute a state 
 That through each winter I must nurse my wrong, 
 Until each spring shall bring thee, all too late ? 
 And when the summer cometh, my sad song 
 Is only to deplore that I must wait. 
 
SONNETS 101 
 
 CI 
 
 A LITTLE flower in my garden groweth. 
 "Love-in-a-mist" is given as its name. 
 Another, of blood hue, beside the same, 
 Doth droop and fall upon the wind that bloweth. 
 This is the "bleeding heart." Like mine, it knoweth 
 The tragic reason for its early fame, 
 By some sad chance, upon the earth it came; 
 But soon, though full of bloom, asleep it goeth. 
 Two emblems have I in these garden flowers. 
 "Love-in-a-mist" thou must be still for me, 
 Deep hidden in love's own mysterious bowers, 
 Where, all uncertain, I can scarcely see. 
 Yet from my "bleeding heart" I gain new powers, 
 Though trampled under foot and crushed by thee. 
 
102 SONNETS 
 
 CII 
 
 MY love makes of my life a sad display; 
 All full of good desires within me born, 
 Like youthful verdure in the early morn; 
 Yet by its mischief ruining each day. 
 No more have I the courage that shall say: 
 "From such poor revenue let me be torn, 
 Lest my life's high estate be basely shorn, 
 And I no longer have wherewith to pay." 
 
 No! still I hold to thy heart's company, 
 That would but seldom grant what I may use, 
 Not knowing by what power thou holdest me ; 
 Yet giving all; that all must still refuse; 
 Unless this line be writ upon the sky, 
 And bring eternal life to this my muse. 
 
SONNETS 103 
 
 cm 
 
 IF in thyself doth all my love reside ; 
 And thou, the storehouse of love's revenue, 
 Holdest my happiness in full review; 
 In thy dear eyes lies pain for me beside. 
 Upon my heart thou ruthlessly dost ride, 
 Grown callous to entreaty made anew. 
 Though without hope that kindness may ensue, 
 Let my blood flow to satisfy thy pride. 
 
 Strange cruelty, enforced by Nature's child ! 
 Thou, friendly in thy feeling, but grown cold; 
 I, burned with Cupid's fire and beguiled; 
 Thou fearful, I the more by thee made bold ; 
 Thou, longing to be free, untamed and wild ; 
 I, young with love, though by its pain grown old. 
 
io 4 SONNETS 
 
 CIV 
 
 THOUGH my true love should be my own un- 
 doing, 
 In leading me where wisdom may disprove, 
 Yet would I choose, in spite of all, to love, 
 So I might have the triumph of thy wooing. 
 Then might I feel that youth I were renewing; 
 My heart's sad livery for once remove; 
 And I might ride through avenues above 
 The common path that life hath been pursuing. 
 
 For nought could equal love, my love, with thee; 
 Nor could I ever tire of thy praise, 
 If thou all that I wish wouldst be to me, 
 And my soul unto Heaven wouldst upraise. 
 Since in love's season lovers all agree, 
 Then give me back what I lose in thy gaze. 
 
SONNETS 105 
 
 T 
 
 cv 
 
 HOUGH thou shouldst not perceive how love in 
 me 
 
 Doth play such havoc with my interest, 
 That I am, as with penury, distrest; 
 All torn by tragic thought and agony; 
 Though thou mayst think it be no harm to see 
 Thy lover with love's wound upon his breast, 
 Think not that by denying him 't is best 
 To foster for thyself life's harmony. 
 
 For though thou mayst deceive thy heart and mine, 
 Posterity, by me, thy soul laid bare, 
 Shall read the truth within this written line, 
 And judge if in thy love thou hast been fair. 
 All is, eternal honor may be thine, 
 So thou prove not my muse and my despair. 
 
io6 SONNETS 
 
 CVI 
 
 TO thee all life is but a passing pleasure, 
 No deeper than the thought within thy mind 
 And thy short love is of a lighter kind 
 Than that which bringeth to my heart its measure. 
 How wanton is thy waste of so great treasure ! 
 And oh, how little value dost thou find! 
 How vacant is thy vision, and how blind ! 
 How empty is thy work, how vain thy leisure ! 
 
 Let all thy faults foregather on that day, 
 When Love shall touch thee with his magic wand, 
 And thou at last unto thyself shall say 
 Thy breast is wounded, but thy heart is fond. 
 Yet shall I love thy spirit, come what may, 
 Though thou be old, and I be far beyond. 
 
SONNETS 107 
 
 CVII 
 
 NOT clothed in transient beauty nor pale health. 
 Like the night-blooming flower, that displays 
 Its fullest glory when the violet rays 
 Of sunlight vanish, and, as if by stealth, 
 The sable realm of night, the commonwealth 
 Of all deceiving things, appears and stays, 
 Till day doth swift disperse its tricks and plays : 
 Not such art thou, endowed with nature's wealth. 
 But on thy cheek the peach-blush of the sun 
 Blends with the russet touch of summer's hand; 
 And in thine eye, fresh youth, that fades not soon, 
 Lives in perpetual triumph, that is won 
 From country joys, waving their magic wand 
 Beneath the sunlit skies or silvery moon. 
 
io8 SONNETS 
 
 CVIII 
 
 NO mind have I to tell thee all thou art, 
 Yet giving half, how can I keep the rest, 
 Since, knowing all, I see both worst and best, 
 And may not then in truth withhold a part ? 
 Thy worst is like love's dagger to my heart; 
 Like Satan, in angelic vestment drest, 
 That bringeth pain disguised into my breast. 
 Such is thy worst. Let me thy best impart. 
 
 Thy best is all thyself, thy beauty's charm, 
 Thy glance, thy smile, thy youth's fair consciousness, 
 Thy power to endear, to twine thine arm 
 With subtle grace about love's deep distress. 
 Still, be it worst or best, thou dost me harm, 
 Though bringing pleasure with thy soft caress. 
 
SONNETS 109 
 
 CIX 
 
 OH, Love doth play such wanton tricks with men, 
 That all their frailty is at once revealed, 
 However much they wish it were concealed ; 
 For common wisdom lies beyond their ken. 
 Like some slain victim toward a lion's den, 
 So are they led, when once to love they yield. 
 The warrior tamed lays by his trusted shield; 
 The youth, his youth ; old age its reason then. 
 
 In each condition is mankind disturbed, 
 Played false, or in unguarded mood surprised, 
 Made mad by overjoy, or else perturbed 
 Through sudden fear that love must be disguised. 
 By some such thought my love alone is curbed, 
 The which, I trow, thou hast ere now surmised. 
 
no SONNETS 
 
 CX 
 
 NOT all the years of my uncounted pain 
 Could teach me wisdom to myself and thee; 
 So I still love, and thou still holdest me ; 
 Nor all the torture of thy fair disdain 
 Wring from thy lips confession, or attain 
 The height of misery that love must be 
 When, unexpressed, itself it may not free 
 From silent thought, or find some speech again. 
 
 Yet love, though long unkind, hath taught me this, 
 That I may find expression on its page; 
 Though not the record of its perfect bliss, 
 Yet, something of its value to mine age, 
 Mixed with poison from the fatal kiss 
 That love still bringeth in its equipage. 
 
SONNETS in 
 
 CXI 
 
 AT least thou canst not say I have not loved, 
 Make accusation fit time's test of me. 
 Bring all thy grievance to love's court, and see 
 How truly my devotion hath been proved, 
 And what high motive hath my spirit moved. 
 Bring all the powers to bear that lie in thee. 
 At least thou canst not claim inconstancy 
 As comrade to that love by thee disproved. 
 For this sad company my soul hath still, 
 That is alike companion to my thought, 
 Precursor of my fate and fate's dark will ; 
 My mendicant desire that thou be brought 
 Into my life, my empty heart to fill, 
 And there remain; my own and dearly sought. 
 
ii2 SONNETS 
 
 CXII 
 
 OFTEN do I in meditation dream 
 That in my garden thou art, with my flowers : 
 To watch with me the foxglove, as it towers 
 High o'er the feathery fern above the stream. 
 The waving corn-flower catcheth the sun's gleam. 
 The yellow poppies, born in summer hours, 
 Now bloomed, shed all their seeds in tiny showers, 
 And nature in a lovely mood would seem. 
 
 So thou, in my imagination, art. 
 And 'neath the azured canopy of heaven, 
 We twain, like children, each do play a part; 
 Now, by the sun, beneath love's bower driven; 
 Now, by some winged creature, caused to start 
 And leave the goal for which we both have striven. 
 
SONNETS 113 
 
 CXIII 
 
 IF thou who readst this verse do find herein 
 More tragedy than joyous thought exprest, 
 Oh, marvel not, that grief should not be drest 
 By me, in bright array, to cloak my sin. 
 My sin is love, love which I may not win ; 
 And by this fact is my heart overprest 
 With weight of sorrow, and my soul distrest, 
 That I must end where others do begin. 
 
 So, if thou seekest to find within this line 
 Enjoyment of a jest, pray put it by. 
 'T is simply for love's elegy to twine 
 A wreath of myrtle with a lover's sigh. 
 For if this verse were gay, 't would not be mine, 
 Since lacking of my true love's love am I. 
 
ii4 SONNETS 
 
 CXIV 
 
 YET ne'ertheless would I make holiday; 
 Exchange love's martyrdom; be light of heart; 
 Take note of others who enjoy love's art ; 
 Make measurable sport of what I may; 
 Seek men and women who are blithe and gay; 
 Forget the past and love's more cruel mart, 
 Wherein doth sorrow play so large a part; 
 And mirror life in a more mirthful way. 
 
 Oh ! that I might be now the youth I was, 
 Before love's mastery enslaved my soul: 
 Free in my fancy, free from life's stern laws, 
 When love of life alone was my heart's goal. 
 Then hath it need of holiday, because 
 For long it heareth nightly love's dirge toll. 
 
SONNETS 115 
 
 CXV 
 
 OH! well have I examined my defect, 
 And all my faults and follies, yet anew 
 (Knowing, alas, too well, they be not few), 
 And marshalled them, that I may thus detect, 
 Which fault or folly love doth not protect, 
 And which would separate my heart from you. 
 From some like cause 't would seem you must eschew 
 This proffered courtship, and my love reject. 
 Then tell me, dear, the which I do adjure 
 Your honor and your honesty to name. 
 For 't is my right, while my love doth endure, 
 To ask if fault or scandal shall proclaim 
 Its untoward presence, and your thought allure. 
 For lies should not kill love, nor hurt my fame. 
 
n6 SONNETS 
 
 CXVI 
 
 OH ! what a thought hath filled my brain this night, 
 And burned my fevered brow, as I suspect 
 That all these years, the love thou didst reject 
 Was, through strange chance, belittled in thy sight 
 By some foul slander or some worldly wight. 
 Methinks some poisonous tongue doth intersect 
 Both love and friendship, and its shade reflect 
 Unseen upon me, like some evil sprite. 
 
 What *s this, that with a start I do behold, 
 As darkness cloaks me round in cold embrace ? 
 Some goblin, born of fear, by fear made bold ? 
 Some lie that lives, yet dares not show its face ? 
 Some tale that knows 't is false as soon as told ? 
 Such company my love doth poorly grace. 
 
SONNETS 117 
 
 CXVII 
 
 AND with the morn, though sunrise shall disperse 
 Those phantoms that dark hours oft have sought, 
 The spectral visage of some midnight thought 
 Doth still unite its poison to my verse. 
 In truth, suspicion makes a cruel nurse, 
 A poor companion, that the world hath brought 
 To tend the soul when, ill and overwrought, 
 It reaches by such means a stage still worse. 
 Let not my life, then, kill this tree of love, 
 Nor canker-worm destroy its fresh green leaf, 
 Nor moth devour its foliage from above; 
 So that its ruin shatter my belief 
 In love's ideal and Cupid's vernal grove. 
 For love that doth prove false must die of grief. 
 
n8 SONNETS 
 
 CXVIII 
 
 NOT every prince, nor king, nor emperor liveth, 
 After his years upon this earth pass by; 
 Not every painter's brush, nor poet's sigh 
 Bringeth to the world the passion that it giveth; 
 Not every sculptor's chiselled stone outliveth 
 The fell destruction of time's tenancy; 
 Nor men thought great, nor man's inconstancy, 
 Commit the sins that life's last court forgiveth, 
 Not such as these form that immortal band, 
 Whose names adorn the temples of past ages. 
 Nay, those decreed by nature to withstand 
 The deep emotions written o'er life's pages. 
 Their thoughts with all mankind go hand in hand, 
 Their loves make one with genius and the sages. 
 
SONNETS 119 
 
 CXIX 
 
 HOW shall I all thy virtues here recount, 
 Dear one, within the limit of this line ; 
 Or round thy brow a wreath of roses twine, 
 To mark the passage of the years we mount; 
 Or how, in this short verse, describe the fount 
 Of love, within my heart, that is all thine ? 
 Within thy soul's retreat a light doth shine, 
 That maketh my return of poor account. 
 
 Then of my homage take what is thy due, 
 That which is mine to give, and free the giving. 
 For all I have is now derived from you, 
 The best of all that maketh life worth living : 
 A gift of nature, given unto few, 
 Though, when received, a cause for their thanksgiving. 
 
120 SONNETS 
 
 CXX 
 
 TIS strange, how little doth the world perceive 
 The interchange of thought 'twixt thee and me ; 
 And how far distant from the truth it be 
 When, guessing of my love, it doth deceive 
 Itself and others, and some tale conceive 
 That hath no setting for my heart or thee. 
 Then happy are we that it doth not see 
 Beyond the false report it would receive. 
 
 So thou, sweet one, unmarried to my love 
 That all these years hath sought thee near at hand, 
 And seen thee bud and flower, as I strove 
 To wait till Cupid touch thee with his wand; 
 So thou, upon some pedestal above, 
 Locked in the secret of my heart shall stand. 
 
SONNETS 121 
 
 ( 
 
 CXXI 
 
 THAT which we have we value not to-day, 
 Yet when 't is gone its absence we deplore. 
 If fortune flieth and be ours no more, 
 Its trail of sorrow passeth on our way, 
 If by infirmity we cease to play 
 Those truant games that childhood doth adore, 
 Then are we all anxiety therefore; 
 Since many long for youth when they grow gray. 
 So thou, who hast not felt love's fiercest pain, 
 And all unconscious cast my love aside, 
 Mayst wake to knowledge, and would love regain 
 When I no longer on this earth reside, 
 Remembered by my love, that shall remain; 
 But thou, for killing me with thy false pride. 
 
122 SONNETS 
 
 CXXII 
 
 OH, chide me not, if in this life I make 
 Poor tillage of the soil that men do plough; 
 And hold me not transgressor, if I now 
 Of this world's order would not so partake. 
 Love's harvester am I, my love at stake, 
 And by lost love my thought, it seems, must grow. 
 While others happy issue from it know, 
 My soul may not produce till my heart break. 
 
 Then plough, sad spirit, o'er the cheerless morrow, 
 And though thy husbandry be but a line, 
 Know that its fruit, born like a child of sorrow, 
 May bear thy likeness, and be thy life's sign 
 In after years, so that the world shall borrow 
 Some portion of the love that once was thine. 
 
SONNETS 123 
 
 CXXIII 
 
 IF thou wert chained by the bans of life, 
 And wedded to another, as thy lord, 
 I well might pierce this heart as with a sword, 
 And leave to love the virtue of a wife. 
 But since thou holdest, by love's hand, a knife, 
 Made sharp by wit, thy maidenhood's reward; 
 Thou mayst so wound me by one fickle word, 
 That I am all at enmity and strife. 
 
 Unwedded then, save to youth's foolish pride, 
 Thou art still free, and chaste as virgin snow, 
 That, taken in captivity, doth fade, 
 And melt to water, clear as for a bride. 
 Then surely I through frosty drifts may plough, 
 To capture, in love's chase, th' unwedded maid. 
 
i24 SONNETS 
 
 CXXIV 
 
 THOU art, in truth, my muse's only guide, 
 That fashions by this pen thine image here, 
 Developed, through loving, year by year: 
 The picture of thy beauty and thy pride. 
 For all my verse doth hold, thou dost decide, 
 Since, writing, I the thought of thee hold dear, 
 And must portray thy very joy and fear, 
 This mirror and thyself stand side by side. 
 
 Then, should thy true resemblance live herein 
 (An only offspring of my love, for me), 
 I treasure this thy likeness as my child; 
 And think thereon, as I do think on thee. 
 For thou art both my angel and my sin; 
 Since 't was my sin to be by thee beguiled. 
 
SONNETS 125 
 
 CXXV 
 
 BACK from the sculptured chantry of the past, 
 The chiselled forms of memory appear, 
 Like stately sentinels of night, yet dear 
 And welcome, as they gather swift and fast; 
 Fast on the heels of love, returned at last, 
 And swift, as recollection draweth near. 
 The songs of th' exalted choir ring so clear, 
 They echo thoughts that time hath long recast. 
 Old chambers of the mind lie thus exposed, 
 By some strange magic, moved with nature's wand, 
 And furnished by deft hands. Doors, once fast closed, 
 Are opened to admit the wondrous band 
 Of spiritual workmen, unopposed, 
 Who build anew things fashioned by our hand. 
 
126 SONNETS 
 
 CXXVI 
 
 IF all the value of my love is this, 
 That by its pain my verse may have some lasting, 
 Oh, let it bear the fruit of my long fasting; 
 Not in fulfilment of its end remiss, 
 But yielding somewhat of that holy bliss 
 Denied me, though on others its joy casting. 
 No youthful heart, no hope let me be blasting; 
 No maiden keep from her true lover's kiss. 
 
 Then end thy tale, sad heart that in me dieth, 
 For want of sunshine from my love's sweet smile. 
 Give unto life the love that in thee lieth; 
 Since what thou lovest only would defile. 
 Gain for thyself the name of one who trieth 
 Love's truth to teach, though sorrowing the while. 
 
SONNETS 127 
 
 CXXVII 
 
 OH! lay aside thy pen, since thou must sing 
 Forever in a mournful minor key, 
 And let the world thy disappointment see, 
 And hear the death-knell of thy spirit ring. 
 Why write of love, since love thou canst not bring 
 Within thy craving heart, that still must be 
 Unsatisfied ? Why on thy bended knee 
 Beg life from some cold, adamantine thing ? 
 Yet at this final moment, more than e'er, 
 Dost thou seem near to me, dear heart, and more 
 Than when first found, dost thou seem sweet and fair, 
 And of my love possess a greater store ! 
 Then though my voice be still, and dead the air, 
 In silence must I thy dear self adore. 
 
i28 SONNETS 
 
 CXXVIII 
 
 THE Wounded Eros fell upon the ground, 
 His bow and quiver lying at his side; 
 The one destroyed, the other but half tried. 
 An arrow, aimed at man, its way had found 
 Beneath the child's soft flesh; and with a sound 
 At once both sweet and sad, he sank and cried 
 In pain to Venus, beauty's queen and bride, 
 As she descended from the heavenly mound. 
 
 So with mankind : Love, wounded, may be seen. 
 Felled by his own swift shaft, that poison brings, 
 Instead of peace or gladness, to his heart. 
 Filled with the vision of what might have been, 
 He treasures still the very thought that clings, 
 Like sable night, though from it he would part. 
 
SONNETS 129 
 
 f~\ THOU, fair one, who never shalt be known, 
 \J 'Though ages cover thy frail bones with dust, 
 And time displace the greed of worldly lust ; 
 Thou, whose gay spirit to my heart hath shown 
 How great love may become when once full-grown: 
 Thou, who hast been the fullness of my trust 
 In all things born of love's fierce fire, — and must, 
 Perforce, hold o'er thy head love's magic crown : 
 
 Take all I have. I lay it at thy feet. 
 Poor though it be, 't is thine. O ask not why ! 
 Within these lines both joy and sorrow greet 
 The lenient friend, who hath not passed them by. 
 And may those lovers, who have found love sweet, 
 Judge both our hearts when in the grave we lie. 
 
OCT .39 1903 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRF^" 
 
 IHUMIIJI 
 
 015 908 419 A