-36_Sonnets.htm

SONNETS

O face that I have loved until no face

 Beneath the quiet heaven such glory wear,

They say you are not beautiful, – no snare

Of twilight in the changing mysticness
Or deep enhaloed secrecy of hair,
Soft largeness in the eyes I dare not kiss!

Unreal all your bosom’s dreadful bliss.

Too narrow are your brows they say to bear

The temple of vast beauty in its span
Or chaste cold bosom to house fierily

Beauty that maddens all the heart of man.

 I know not, this I know that utterly
My soul is by some magic curls surprised,

Some glances have my heart immortalised.

II
 

I cannot equal those most absolute eyes,

Although they rule my being, with the stars,

Nor floral rich comparisons devise
To detail sweetness that your body wears.

Nor in the heavens hints of you I find.

Nor dim suggestions in this thoughtful eve;

The moonlight of your darker grace is blind

Who can with such pale delicacies deceive

A naked burning heart.

Only one place Satisfies me of you, where the feet
That I shall never clasp, with beauty press

 The barren earth in one place only sweet,

One face in the wide world alone divine,

The only one! that never can be mine.

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III

O letter dull and cold, how can she read
Gladly these lifeless lines, no fire that prove,

When others even their passionate hearts exceed

Caressing her sweet name with words of love?

O me that I could force this barrier, turn
My heart to syllables, make all desire
One burning word, then would my letters yearn

With some reflection of that hidden fire.
Ah! if I could, what then? This fiery fate

Within for human eyes was never meant.
All hearts could view with horror or with hate

A picture not of earthly lineament.
Yourself even sweet, would start with terror back

As at the hissing of a sudden snake

IV

My life is wasted like a lamp ablaze
Within a solitary house unused,
My life is wasted and by Love men praise
For sweet and kind. How often have I mused

What lovely thing were love and much repined

 At my cold bosom moved not by that flame.

‘Tis kindled; lo, my dreadful being turned

Round one whom to myself I dare not name.
I cannot quench the fire I did not light
And he that lit it will not; I cannot even,

 Although my heart between his burning hands,

Drive out the guest I never did invite;

Although the soul he dwells with lose its heaven,

 I burn and know not why; I sink to hell

Fruitlessly and am forbidden to rebel.

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V

Because thy flame is spent, shall mine grow less,
O bud, O wonder of the opening rose?
Why both my soul and love it would disgrace
If I could trade in love, begin and close
My long account of passion, like a book
Of merchant’s credit, given to be repaid,
Or not returned, struck off with lowering look
Like a bad debt uncritically made.
What thou couldst give, thou gav’st me, one sweet smile 

Worth all the sunlight that the years contain,
One month of months when thy sweet spirit a while 

Fluttered o’er mine half-thinking to remain:
What I could give, I gave thee, to my last breath, 

Immortal love, immovable by death

VI

Thou didst mistake, thy spirit’s infant flight

Opening its lovely wings upon the sun,
Paused o’er the first strong bloom that met thy sight 

Thinking perhaps it was the only one.
But all this fragrant garden was beyond,
Winds came to thee with hints of honey, day

Disclosed a brighter hope than this unsunned 

Thought-sheltered heart and called thee far away. 

Thou didst mistake, must I then rage, grow ill, 

With tortured vanity and think it love,
Miscall with brutal names my lady’s will,
Fouling thy snow-white image, O my dove?
Is not thy kiss enough, though only one,
For all eternity to live upon?

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VII

Rose, I have loved thy beauty, as I love
The dress that thou hast worn, the transient grass,

O’er  which thy happy careless footsteps move,
The yet-thrilled waysides that have watched (seen) thee pass.

Soul, I have loved thy sweetness as men love
The necessary air they crave to breathe,
The sunlight lavished from the skies above,
And firmness of the earth their steps beneath.

But were that beauty all, my love might cease

Like love of weaker spirits; were’t thy charm

And grace of soul, mine might with age decrease

Or find in Death a silence and a term,
But rooted to the unnameable in thee
Shall triumph and transcend eternity

VIII

Still there is something that I lack in thee

And yet must find. There is a broad abyss

 Between possession and true sovereignty

Which thou must bridge with a diviner kiss.

I questioned all the beauty of other girls,

Thinking thou hadst it not to give, indeed

But not Giannina’s breasts nor Pippa’s curls

Contained it; thou alone canst meet my need.

Deniest thou some secret of thy soul
To me who claim thee all? Nay, can it be

Thy bosom’s joys escape from my control?

Forbid it Heaven Hell should yawn for thee.

Deny it now! let not sweet love begun
End in red blood and awful justice done.

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IX

I have a doubt, I have a doubt which kills.
Tell me, O torturing beauty, O divine
Witchcraft, O soul escaped from heaven’s hills

Yet fed upon strange food of utter sin,
Why dost thou torture me? Hast thou no fear?

My love was ever like my hate a sword
To search the heart and kill however dear
The joy that would not own me for its lord.
Yet must I still believe that thou art true
If thou wilt say it and smile, knowest thou not then

I have purchased with my passion all of you
And wilt thou keep a nook for other men?
Deny it now! let not sweet love begun
End in red blood and awful justice done

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