ELEVEN SONNETS
I[ToC]
I will not close the door, O Love, on thee,
Although I fear thee still. In days of old
Thy magic echoes lured me on to be
The slave of dreams; but now that I behold
The earth again, and that my wings are gone,
I will take refuge, simply, on thy breast.
No miracle I seek, no rapturous dawn
Of an unearthly day; I will but rest
My weary eyes, and lay between thy hands
These empty fingers that have ceased to clutch
At stars. Because my spirit understands
Renouncement, thou wilt give, maybe. Not much
I ask of thee: I only ask to keep
Thee near, O Love! until my heart's asleep.