Yes, I could trust, forever and a day, Thy constant heart to any worldling's wiles,
No popular respect will I omit To do thee honor on this happy day,
I saw pale Dian, sitting by the brink Of silver falls, the overflow of fountains
I have a faith that love can do as much; Love that works miracles against a time
Half that we learn is wisdom of the heart, Which owes but little to the probing brain--
The curse of Adam, the old curse of all, Though I inherit in this feverish life
As Cleopatra's pearl dissolved in wine, Made her rich draught the boast of olden days,--
If it be sin, as rigid men aver, To love, as we have loved, above the law
Ah, sweet, thou little knowest how I wake and passionate watches keep;
By ev'ry sweet tradition of true hearts, Graven by Time, in love with his own lore;
She said to him, "Unless, when I am dead From out the green sod of my lowly grave
Poet! I come to touch thy lance with mine;
Not as a knight, who on the listed field
My dearest, trust me! I may err and fail In many ways, through mere humanity,
My lady's senses are so pure and fine, She takes small pleasure in the close embrace
Beneath the stars and yonder waning moon, Over the brooks that sparkle to the main,
Oh, 'tis a touching thing, to make one weep,— A tender infant with its curtain'd eye,
Here surge the ceaseless caravans, Here throbs the city's heart,
When last I saw my darling's wondrous eyes, For my mere presence grow so gladly bright,
Oh! I have touched the blazing crown of bliss, Reached the last summit, where to breathe and stand,
When men distrust me, not because they find Baseness in me, but basely they mistake
When this warm hand is cold in death, and all The wide world over thou may'st seek in vain
I cannot tell thee when my heart began To love thee, Dearest; for I cannot say
Thy birthday ends a year of grief and pain, Of hope deferred, that maketh sick the heart,
Down his great corridors of sumptuous sound Today I wandered once again. Each word
Bajo la sensación del cloroformo me hacen temblar con alarido interno,
Most delicate Ariel! submissive thing, Won by the mind's high magic to its hest—
Shall I not know thee in the life to be By something proper unto thee alone--
Cast on the lily's cheek the rose's glow, And while the world with morning dew is wet,
Thus in her absence is my fancy cool: And then my schemes of purity designed
I know the days are heavy on thy hands, Thy lonely pillow wet with many a tear,
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