 | Sonnets : a sequence on profane love by George Henry Boker |  |
165
[CCXCVI. I love thee, love thee! Let these words atone]
I love thee, love thee! Let these words atoneFor all the others—for my jealous rage,
My hot and hasty temper, and assuage
The wounds I make, which make myself to groan.
Alas! I share the mortal heritage
Whose doom enslaves us; betwixt curse and moan,
I beat my wings against a wall of stone,
Like to a wild thing in the fowler's cage.
And thou, dear heart, art hurt and half dismayed
By what I utter and by what I do,
Striking at random, blows which pierce thee too.
But though a demon hath my soul betrayed
And blind with fury, doth my course pursue,
I love thee, love thee! O, be not afraid!
February 9, 1881
| Sonnets : a sequence on profane love by George Henry Boker | |