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!
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?
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?
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?
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!