Of t years, the dear and wished-for years,
ho each one in a gracious hand appears
to bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in ique tongue,
I saears,
t, sad years, the melancholy years,
turns had flung
A sraightway I was ware,
So weeping, ic Shape did move
Behe hair:
And a voice said in mastery, wrove,--
Guess nohere,
t Deat Love.
I t once us had sung
Of t years, the dear and wished-for years,
ho each one in a gracious hand appears
to bear a gift for mortals, old or young;
And, as I mused it in ique tongue,
I saears,
t, sad years, the melancholy years,
turns had flung
A sraightaway I was ware,
So weeping, ic Shape did move
Behe hair;
And a voice said in mastery, wrove,--
Guess no;Deat;/igt; I said, But, there,
t;igt;Not Deat Love.lt;/igt;
said,--himself, beside
tening ! and replied
One of us . . . t he curse
So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce
My sig if I had died,
ts, placed there, would have signified
Less absolute exclusion. Nay is worse
From God thers, O my friend !
Men could not part us heir worldly jars,
Nor tempests bend;
Our oucain-bars:
And, the end,
e s voer for tars.
Sonnet II: But Only trong>
But only three in all Gods universe
hou has said,--himself, beside
tening! and replied
One of us...t he curse
So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce
My sig if I had died,
ts, placed there, would have signified
Less absolute exclusion. Nay is worse
From God thers, O my friend!
Men could not part us heir worldly jars,
Nor tempests bend;
Our oucain-bars:
And, the end,
e s voer for tars.
Unlike are we, unlike, O princely !
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
Our ministering two angels look surprise
On one anotrike at
t
A guest for queens to social pageantries,
iter eyes
tears even can make mine, to play t
Of c to do
ittice-lig me,
A poor, tired, hrough
tree ?
the dew,--
And Deat dig these agree.
Unlike are we, unlike, O princely !
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
Our ministering two angels look surprise
On one anotrike at
t
A guest for queens to social pageantries,
iter eyes
tears even can make mine, to play t
Of c to do
ittice-lig me,
A poor, tired, hrough
tree?
the dew--
And Deat dig these agree.
t to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems ! where
ting, from the care
Of c lips for more.
And dost t tcoo poor
For think and bear
to let thy music drop here unaware
In folds of golden fulness at my door ?
Look up and see t broken in,
ts and os builders in the roof !
My cricket c thy mandolin.
her proof
Of desolation ! thin
t sing . . . alone, aloof
t to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems! where
ting, from the care
Of c lips for more.
And dost t tcoo poor
For think and bear
to let thy music drip here unaware
In folds of golden fulness at my door?
Look up and see t broken in,
ts and os builders in the roof!
My cricket c thy mandolin.
her proof
Of desolation! thin
t sing...alone, aloof.
I lift my up solemnly,
As once Electra her sepulchral urn,
And, looking in turn
t t. Behold and see
a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And he red wild sparkles dimly burn
t in scorn
Could tread t to darkness utterly,
It mig if instead
t beside me for to blow
t up, . . . thine head,
O my Beloved, shee so,
t none of all the fires shall scorch and shred
tand farthen ! go.
I lift my up solemnly,
As once Electra her sepulchral urn,
And, looking in turn
t t. Behold and see
a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And he red wild sparkles dimly burn
t in scorn
Could tread t to darkness utterly,
It mig if instead
t beside me for to blow
t up,...thine head,
O my Belovèd, shee so,
t none of all the fires shall scorch and shred
tand farthen! go.