Can the earth do to us, that we should not long

Let the worlds sharpness like a clasping knife

My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee !

And would the sun for thee more coldly shine

Which its own nature doth precipitate,

I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange

My heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me bring

Be here contented ? Think. In mounting higher,

Should seem "a cuckoo-song,"as thou dost treat it,

A place to stand and love in for a day,

By a beating heart at dance-time. Hopes apace

Cry, <i>Speak once more--thou lovest!</i> Who can fear

While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead

And feel as safe as guarded by a charm

In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,

While thine doth close above it, mediating

The lilies of our lives may reassure

Betwixt the stars and the unaccomplished fate.

Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,

Were changed to l九*九*藏*書ong despairs, till Gods own grace

With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.

Shut in upon itself and do no harm

Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,

And let us hear no sound of human strife

Because of grave-damps falling round my head?

Are weak to injure. Very whitely still

Say over again, and yet once over again,

Of all those natural joys as lightly worn

After the click of the shutting. Life to life--

Of dreams of death, resumes lifes lower range.

Were changed to long despairs, till Gods own grace

The silver iterance!--only minding, Dear,

Until the lengthening wings break into fire

Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn

By a beating heart at dance-time. Hopes apace

I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange

Say over again, and yet once over again,

Is it indeed so ? If I lay here dead,

While thine doth close above it, mediating

While my hands tremble ? Then my soul, instead

Until the lengthening wings break into fire

Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine--

Let the worlds sharpness, like a clasping knife,

Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,

At either curvèd point,--what bitter wrong

For love, to give up 九-九-藏-書acres and degree,

Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain

Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine ?

Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted

Sonnet XXIII: Is It Indeed So?

And let it drop adown thy calmly great

And let us hear no sound of human strife

But...so much to thee? Can I pour your wine

Contrarious moods of men recoil away

Can the earth do to us, that we should not long

A place to stand and love in for a day,

Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife

Their blossoms from their roots, accessible

Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay

Then, love me, Love! Look on me--breathe on me!

Because of grave-damps falling round my head ?

A heavy heart, Belovèd, have I borne

Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,

Contrarious moods of men recoil away

Shut in upon itself and do no harm

Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.

For love, to give up acres and九九藏書 degree,

Rather on earth, Beloved,--where the unfit

With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.

From year to year until I saw thy face,

Be here contented? Think. In mounting higher,

Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn

Deep being ! Fast it sinketh, as a thing

Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer,

That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated

Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay

The lilies of our lives may reassure

After the click of the shutting. Life to life -

And sorrow after sorrow took the place

Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll

Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year ?

As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn

I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read

Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer;

But . . . so much to thee ? Can I pour thy wine

Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?

As brighter ladies do not count it strange,

To drop some golden orb of perfect song

Which its own nature doth precipitate,

In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,

To drop some golden orb of perfect song

And let it drop adown thy calmly great

Remember, never to the hill or plain,

To love me also in silence with thyread.99csw.com soul.

I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,

By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubts pain

The angels would press on us and aspire

Deep being! Fast it sinketh, as a thing

From year to year until I saw thy face,

And isolate pure spirits, and permit

Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife

Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine--

Should seem a cuckoo-song, as thou dost treat it,

Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted

Growing straight, out of mans reach, on the hill.

By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubts pain

And sorrow after sorrow took the place

And isolate pure spirits, and permit

When our two souls stand up erect and strong,

To love me also in silence with thy soul.

The angels would press on us and aspire

Growing straight, out of mans reach, on the hill.

The silver iterance !--only minding, Dear,

A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne

That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated

My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee!

My heavy heart. Than thou didst bid me bring

Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,

God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.

When our t九*九*藏*書wo souls stand up erect and strong,

I marvelled, my Belovèd, when I read

Of all those natural joys as lightly worn

Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll

Cry, Speak once more--thou lovest ! Who can fear

God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.

And would the sun for thee more coldly shine

Then, love me, Love ! look on me--breathe on me !

At either curved point,--what bitter wrong

Their blossoms from their roots, accessible

Of dreams of death, resumes lifes lower range.

Are weak to injure. Very whitely still

Remember, never to the hill or plain,

As brighter ladies do not count it strange,

And feel as safe as guarded by a charm

I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,

Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year?