Sonnets from the Portuguese

Sonnets from the Portuguese

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Sonnets from the Portuguese

Sonnets from the Portuguese

Read FREE!

Excerpt

I THOUGHT once how Theocritus had

sung

Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-

for years,

Who each one in a gracious hand ap-

pears

To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:

And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,

I saw, in gradual vision through my

tears,

The sweet, sad years, the melancholy

years,

Those of my own life, who by turns

had flung

A shadow across me. Straightway I

was 'ware,

So weeping, how a mystic Shape did

move

Behind me, and drew me backward by

the hair;

And a voice said in mastery, while I

strove,—

" Guess now who holds thee?"—

"Death," I said. But, there,

The silver answer rang,—"Not Death,

but Love."

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