SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE
With the same heart, I said, I'll answer thee
As those, who thou shalt call me by my name--
Lo, the vain promise! Is the same, the same,
Perplexed and ruffled by life's strategy?
When called before, I told how hastily
I dropped my flowers, or brake off from a game,
To run and answer with the smile that came
At play last moment, and went on with me
Through my obedience. When I answer now,
I drop a grave thought;-- break from solitude;--
Yet still my heart goes to thee . . . ponder how . . .
Not as to a single good, but all my good!
Lay thy hand on it, best one, and allow
That no child's foot could run as fast as this blood.