Four Sonnets
Love,though for this you riddle me with darts,And drag me at your chariot till I die,—Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of hearts!—Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lieWho shout you mighty: thick about my hair,Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr,Who still am free, unto no querulous careA fool, and in no temple worshipper!I, that have bared me to your quiver’s fire,Lifted my face into its puny rain,Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke DesireAs you are Powerless to Elicit Pain!(Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave,Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!)
Love,though for this you riddle me with darts,And drag me at your chariot till I die,—Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of hearts!—Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lieWho shout you mighty: thick about my hair,Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr,Who still am free, unto no querulous careA fool, and in no temple worshipper!I, that have bared me to your quiver’s fire,Lifted my face into its puny rain,Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke DesireAs you are Powerless to Elicit Pain!(Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave,Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!)
Love,though for this you riddle me with darts,And drag me at your chariot till I die,—Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of hearts!—Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lieWho shout you mighty: thick about my hair,Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr,Who still am free, unto no querulous careA fool, and in no temple worshipper!I, that have bared me to your quiver’s fire,Lifted my face into its puny rain,Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke DesireAs you are Powerless to Elicit Pain!(Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave,Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!)
I thinkI should have loved you presently,And given in earnest words I flung in jest;And lifted honest eyes for you to see,And caught your hand against my cheek and breast;And all my pretty follies flung asideThat won you to me, and beneath your gaze,Naked of reticence and shorn of pride,Spread like a chart my little wicked ways.I, that had been to you, had you remained,But one more waking from a recurrent dream,Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained,And walk your memory’s halls, austere, supreme,A ghost in marble of a girl you knewWho would have loved you in a day or two.
I thinkI should have loved you presently,And given in earnest words I flung in jest;And lifted honest eyes for you to see,And caught your hand against my cheek and breast;And all my pretty follies flung asideThat won you to me, and beneath your gaze,Naked of reticence and shorn of pride,Spread like a chart my little wicked ways.I, that had been to you, had you remained,But one more waking from a recurrent dream,Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained,And walk your memory’s halls, austere, supreme,A ghost in marble of a girl you knewWho would have loved you in a day or two.
I thinkI should have loved you presently,And given in earnest words I flung in jest;And lifted honest eyes for you to see,And caught your hand against my cheek and breast;And all my pretty follies flung asideThat won you to me, and beneath your gaze,Naked of reticence and shorn of pride,Spread like a chart my little wicked ways.I, that had been to you, had you remained,But one more waking from a recurrent dream,Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained,And walk your memory’s halls, austere, supreme,A ghost in marble of a girl you knewWho would have loved you in a day or two.
Oh,think not I am faithful to a vow!Faithless am I save to love’s self alone.Were you not lovely I would leave you now:After the feet of beauty fly my own.Were you not still my hunger’s rarest food,And water ever to my wildest thirst,I would desert you—think not but I would!—And seek another as I sought you first.But you are mobile as the veering air,And all your charms more changeful than the tide,Wherefore to be inconstant is no care:I have but to continue at your side.So wanton, light and false, my love, are you,I am most faithless when I most am true.
Oh,think not I am faithful to a vow!Faithless am I save to love’s self alone.Were you not lovely I would leave you now:After the feet of beauty fly my own.Were you not still my hunger’s rarest food,And water ever to my wildest thirst,I would desert you—think not but I would!—And seek another as I sought you first.But you are mobile as the veering air,And all your charms more changeful than the tide,Wherefore to be inconstant is no care:I have but to continue at your side.So wanton, light and false, my love, are you,I am most faithless when I most am true.
Oh,think not I am faithful to a vow!Faithless am I save to love’s self alone.Were you not lovely I would leave you now:After the feet of beauty fly my own.Were you not still my hunger’s rarest food,And water ever to my wildest thirst,I would desert you—think not but I would!—And seek another as I sought you first.But you are mobile as the veering air,And all your charms more changeful than the tide,Wherefore to be inconstant is no care:I have but to continue at your side.So wanton, light and false, my love, are you,I am most faithless when I most am true.
I shallforget you presently, my dear,So make the most of this, your little day,Your little month, your little half a year,Ere I forget, or die, or move away,And we are done forever; by and byI shall forget you, as I said, but now,If you entreat me with your loveliest lieI will protest you with my favourite vow.I would indeed that love were longer-lived,And oaths were not so brittle as they are,But so it is, and nature has contrivedTo struggle on without a break thus far,—Whether or not we find what we are seekingIs idle, biologically speaking.
I shallforget you presently, my dear,So make the most of this, your little day,Your little month, your little half a year,Ere I forget, or die, or move away,And we are done forever; by and byI shall forget you, as I said, but now,If you entreat me with your loveliest lieI will protest you with my favourite vow.I would indeed that love were longer-lived,And oaths were not so brittle as they are,But so it is, and nature has contrivedTo struggle on without a break thus far,—Whether or not we find what we are seekingIs idle, biologically speaking.
I shallforget you presently, my dear,So make the most of this, your little day,Your little month, your little half a year,Ere I forget, or die, or move away,And we are done forever; by and byI shall forget you, as I said, but now,If you entreat me with your loveliest lieI will protest you with my favourite vow.I would indeed that love were longer-lived,And oaths were not so brittle as they are,But so it is, and nature has contrivedTo struggle on without a break thus far,—Whether or not we find what we are seekingIs idle, biologically speaking.