|
| 36. |
My lover stole
my heart, just over there
– so gently! – and stole much more, my life as well.
And there, all promise, first his fine eyes fell
on me, and there his turnabout meant no.
He manacled me there; there let me go;
There I bemoaned my luck; with anguished eye
watched, from this very rock, his last goodbye
as he took myself from me, bound who knows where.
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| 72. |
If, through our
eyes, the heart’s seen in the face,
more evidence who needs, clearly to show
the fire within? Let that do, my lord, that glow
as warrant to make bold to ask your favor.
Perhaps your soul, loyal, less like to waver
than I imagine, assays my honest flame
and, pitying, finds it true – no cause for blame.
“Ask and it shall be given,” in that case.
O day of bliss, if such can be assured!
Let the clock-hands end their circling; in accord
sun cease his ancient roundabout endeavor,
so I might have, certain-sure, – though not procured
by my own worth – my long desired sweet lord,
in my unworthy but eager arms, forever.
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| 83. |
What in your
handsome face I see, my lord,
I’m hard put to find words for, here below.
Often it lofts my soul to God, although
wearing, that soul, the body like a shroud.
And if the stupid, balefully staring crowd
mocks others for feelings after its own fashion,
no matter. I’m no less thankful for a passion
pulsing with love – faith, honor in accord.
There’s a Fountain of Mercy brought our souls to being
which all Earth’s beauty must in part resemble
(lesser things, less) for an eye alert to truth.
No other hint of heaven’s here for our seeing,
hence, he that a love for you sets all a-tremble
already hovers in heaven, transcending death. |
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