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10

SONNET VIII
POESY

I.

Sweet Poesy, I love thee; as a bride
Plays with a lover's locks and crowns his hair
With kisses, finding him exceeding fair,
So do thou prattle, sweet one, by my side,
And let me on thy gentle converse glide
As softly as a swallow on the air;
Be kind to me, let me some secrets share;
Thou knowest for how long my soul hath sighed
After thy Beauty, shall I not attain
One day the inner vision of thy face?
Are all a poet's passionate pleadings vain?
—I care for nothing else if but thy grace
Be present, making summer of each place,
Wringing a melody out of every pain.
1870.