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Love Sonnets (4)
Love Sonnets


O for a castle on a woodland height!
High mountains round, and a pure stream below,
Within all charms that tastful hours invite,
Wise books of poesy and music’s flow; -

A grassy lawn through which to course our steeds,
A gothic chapel in seclusion reared,
Where we could solace find for holiest needs,
And grow by mutural rites the more endeared:

How such captivity alone with thee
Would lift to Paradise each passing day!
Then all revealed my patient love would be,

And thou couldst not a full response delay;
For Truth makes holy Love’s illusive dreams,
And their best promise constantly redeems.


The rain-drops patter on the casement still,
So hushed the room, each faint watch-tick I hear,
The crackling of the embers seems to fill
This brooding quiet with an accent clear:

I’ve looked awhile upon the gifted page,
Glanced at the dingy roofs and leaden sky,
Or paced the floor my mind to disengage,
Chiding the languid hours as they fly;

In vain! the thought of thee o’ermasters all,
Now waking joy, and now a dark surmise,
As Memory spreads her banquet or her pall,

And bids me hopeless sink or gladsome rise:
On what bright wings these lonely hours would flee,
Dared I but feel that thou hast thought of me!


The buds have opened, and in leafy pride
Woo the soft winds of this caprious May;
With a refreshing green the fields are dyred,
And clearer sparkles on the waters play.

All Nature speaks of boundless promise now,
In tones as sweet as thine, - her hand is laid
With a maternal greeting on my brow,
Until its fevered throbbings all are stayed;

And I am fain to lie upon her breast,
Unconscious of the world, divorced from pain,
Drink from her rosy lips the balm of rest,

And be her glad and trustful child again:
But such fond dalliance claims a spirit free,
And all her spells are broken – without thee!


What thought our dream is broken? Yet again
Like a familiar angel it shall bear
Consoling treasures for these days of pain,
Such as they only who have grieved can share:

As unhived nectar for the bee to sip,
Lurks in each flower-cell which the spring-time brings,
As music rests upon the quiet lip,
And power to soar yet lives in folded wings;

So let the love on which our spirits glide
Flow deep and strong beneath its bridge of sighs,
No shadow resting on the latent tide

Whose heavenward current baffes human eyes,
Until we stand upon the holy shore,
And realms it prophesied at length explore.

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