{"id":535,"date":"2016-10-06T14:04:52","date_gmt":"2016-10-06T14:04:52","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/englishlitvictorianmodern\/?post_type=chapter&p=535"},"modified":"2016-10-06T14:10:28","modified_gmt":"2016-10-06T14:10:28","slug":"sonnets-from-the-portuguese","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-englishlitvictorianmodern\/chapter\/sonnets-from-the-portuguese\/","title":{"raw":"Sonnets from the Portuguese","rendered":"Sonnets from the Portuguese"},"content":{"raw":"

XXI<\/h2>\nSay over again, and yet once over again,\n\nThat thou dost love me. Though the word repeated\n\nShould seem a \"cuckoo-song,[footnote]Repetitious.[\/footnote]\" as thou dost treat it,\n\nRemember, never to the hill or plain,\n\nValley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain\n\nComes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.\n\nBeloved, I, amid the darkness greeted\n\nBy a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain\n\nCry, \"Speak once more\u2014thou lovest!\" Who can fear\n\nToo many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,\n\nToo many flowers, though each shall crown the year?\n\nSay thou dost love me, love me, love me\u2014toll\n\nThe silver iterance!\u2014only minding, Dear,\n\nTo love me also in silence with thy soul.\n\n\u00a0\n

XXII<\/h2>\nWhen our two souls stand up erect and strong,\n\nFace to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,\n\nUntil the lengthening wings break into fire\n\nAt either curved point,\u2014what bitter wrong\n\nCan the earth do to us, that we should not long\n\nBe here contented? Think! In mounting higher,\n\nThe angels would press on us and aspire\n\nTo drop some golden orb of perfect song\n\nInto our deep, dear silence. Let us stay\n\nRather on earth, Beloved,\u2014where the unfit\n\nContrarious moods of men recoil away\n\nAnd isolate pure spirits, and permit\n\nA place to stand and love in for a day,\n\nWith darkness and the death-hour rounding it.\n\n\u00a0\n

XXXII<\/h2>\nThe first time that the sun rose on thine oath\n\nTo love me, I looked forward to the moon\n\nTo slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon\n\nAnd quickly tied to make a lasting troth.\n\nQuick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe;\n\nAnd, looking on myself, I seemed not one\n\nFor such man's love!\u2014more like an out-of-tune\n\nWorn viol, a good singer would be wroth\n\nTo spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste,\n\nIs laid down at the first ill-sounding note.\n\nI did not wrong myself so, but I placed\n\nA wrong on thee. For perfect strains may float\n\n'Neath master-hands, from instruments defaced,\u2014\n\nAnd great souls, at one stroke, may do and doat.\n\n

XLIII<\/strong><\/h2>\nHow do I love thee? Let me count the ways.\n\nI love thee to the depth and breadth and height\n\nMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sight\n\nFor the ends of Being and ideal Grace.\n\nI love thee to the level of everyday's\n\nMost quiet need, by sun and candlelight.\n\nI love thee freely, as men strive for Right;\n\nI love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.\n\nI love thee with the passion put to use\n\nIn my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.\n\nI love thee with a love I seemed to lose\n\nWith my lost saints,\u2014I love thee with the breath,\n\nSmiles, tears, of all my life!\u2014and, if God choose,\n\nI shall but love thee better after death.\n\n\u20141845-47, 1850","rendered":"

XXI<\/h2>\n

Say over again, and yet once over again,<\/p>\n

That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated<\/p>\n

Should seem a “cuckoo-song,[1]<\/sup><\/a>” as thou dost treat it,<\/p>\n

Remember, never to the hill or plain,<\/p>\n

Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain<\/p>\n

Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.<\/p>\n

Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted<\/p>\n

By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt’s pain<\/p>\n

Cry, “Speak once more\u2014thou lovest!” Who can fear<\/p>\n

Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,<\/p>\n

Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year?<\/p>\n

Say thou dost love me, love me, love me\u2014toll<\/p>\n

The silver iterance!\u2014only minding, Dear,<\/p>\n

To love me also in silence with thy soul.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

XXII<\/h2>\n

When our two souls stand up erect and strong,<\/p>\n

Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,<\/p>\n

Until the lengthening wings break into fire<\/p>\n

At either curved point,\u2014what bitter wrong<\/p>\n

Can the earth do to us, that we should not long<\/p>\n

Be here contented? Think! In mounting higher,<\/p>\n

The angels would press on us and aspire<\/p>\n

To drop some golden orb of perfect song<\/p>\n

Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay<\/p>\n

Rather on earth, Beloved,\u2014where the unfit<\/p>\n

Contrarious moods of men recoil away<\/p>\n

And isolate pure spirits, and permit<\/p>\n

A place to stand and love in for a day,<\/p>\n

With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

XXXII<\/h2>\n

The first time that the sun rose on thine oath<\/p>\n

To love me, I looked forward to the moon<\/p>\n

To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon<\/p>\n

And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.<\/p>\n

Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe;<\/p>\n

And, looking on myself, I seemed not one<\/p>\n

For such man’s love!\u2014more like an out-of-tune<\/p>\n

Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth<\/p>\n

To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste,<\/p>\n

Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.<\/p>\n

I did not wrong myself so, but I placed<\/p>\n

A wrong on thee. For perfect strains may float<\/p>\n

‘Neath master-hands, from instruments defaced,\u2014<\/p>\n

And great souls, at one stroke, may do and doat.<\/p>\n

\nXLIII<\/strong><\/h2>\n

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.<\/p>\n

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height<\/p>\n

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight<\/p>\n

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.<\/p>\n

I love thee to the level of everyday’s<\/p>\n

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.<\/p>\n

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;<\/p>\n

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.<\/p>\n

I love thee with the passion put to use<\/p>\n

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.<\/p>\n

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose<\/p>\n

With my lost saints,\u2014I love thee with the breath,<\/p>\n

Smiles, tears, of all my life!\u2014and, if God choose,<\/p>\n

I shall but love thee better after death.<\/p>\n

\u20141845-47, 1850<\/p>\n\n\t\t\t

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Candela Citations<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t
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