SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE

SONNET VI

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforth in thy shadow.  Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore, . . .
Thy touch upon the palm.  The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double.  What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes.  And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two. 

 


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