If this be sorrow, I have never known The faintest touch of human grief till now--
Farewell once more,--and yet again farewell! I cannot quit thee. On thy lips I press
I never courted miser, fool or knave; Nor held my heart up as a thing to sell
Against the changes of obsequious time, That shifts his seasons as his lord, the sun,
Darling, to say I love thee, is to say What I have often said, with careless arm
The love of this dear woman is so sweet
To me, whose heart has been the spurn and cuff
My Darling's temper is beyond compare, Tender and gentle in its will to me;
How bravely now I face the marching days, With Youth's strong armor to defy the years!
Some hearts prevail by action; some have skill, With tone, phrase, look and gesture to subdue
No por azar, por gusto del dislate ni por obedecer a una figura,
So long have paused the strings across my lute, So many streams of bitterness have run
My lady's birthday rises golden fair, And I arise to see the lord of light
Another year has passed us, while the earth Grew green and grey again beneath our eyes,
I bend and kiss thee; 'tis a little thing; Thousands have passed between us; and, God grant,
Con la pompa de brahmánicas unciones, abrióse el lecho de sus primaveras,
Thy birthday opened with artillery;-- The flash and thunder of the breaking wave,
I cannot liken thee to any flower, As they of old, the master poets, chose
Within our lips is stored the bitterness Of the dread tree that made the meadow's bleat
Is this the best art offers to her slave-- A distant court, a solitary throne,
Love sat at ease upon Time's bony knee; Pulled his grey beard; paddled his finger-tips
Falsehood to thee would be the blackest crime My conscience frowns at; and 'twere falsehood sure
If we were fashioned to be ignorant, And frisk and frolic with the kid and fawn,
They cannot part us. With this power of song, Through every circumstance, and time and place,
So many changing phases have I known Of my hot heart and of my colder brain,
The satyr nature riots in my blood. "Of the earth, earthy!" I in vain exclaim.
Erewhile I lived in shows and hollow masks, I played with falsehood which I counted truth,
When I look back upon my early days, In what a wilderness of love I spent
I mark not seasons by the calendar; My lady's birthdays measure time to me;
If it console thee, Sweet, to be aware That not alone thy grievous load is borne,
A sadder word I never uttered yet-- No, not in chambers when the light was low,
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