30
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear times' waste:Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.
31
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, Which I by lacking have supposed dead;And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried. How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, As interest of the dead, which now appear But things remov'd that hidden in thee lie!Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, Who all their parts of me to thee did give, That due of many now is thine alone: Their images I lov'd I view in thee, And thou—all they—hast all the all of me.
32
If thou survive my well-contented day, When that churl Death my bones with dust shallcover,And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, Compare them with the bettering of the time, And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rime, Exceeded by the height of happier men.O! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growingage,A dearer birth than this his love had brought, To march in ranks of better equipage: But since he died, and poets better prove, Theirs for their style I'll read, his for hislove.'
33
Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy;Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:Even so my sun one early morn did shine, With all-triumphant splendour on my brow;But, out! alack! he was but one hour mine, The region cloud hath mask'd him from menow. Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.
34
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thoubreak,To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, For no man well of such a salve can speak That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace:Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:The offender's sorrow lends but weak reliefTo him that bears the strong offence's cross. Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.
35
No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done:Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. All men make faults, and even I in this, Authorising thy trespass with compare, Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense,— Thy adverse party is thy advocate,— And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence:Such civil war is in my love and hate, That I an accessary needs must be To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
36
Let me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one:So shall those blots that do with me remain, Without thy help, by me be borne alone. In our two loves there is but one respect, Though in our lives a separable spite, Which, though it alter not love's sole effect, Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. I may not evermore acknowledge thee, Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, Nor thou with public kindness honour me, Unless thou take that honour from thy name:But do not so; I love thee in such sort As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
37
As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, Or any of these all, or all, or more, Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit, I make my love engrafted to this store:So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd, Whilst that this shadow doth such substancegiveThat I in thy abundance am suffic'd And by a part of all thy glory live. Look what is best, that best I wish in thee:This wish I have; then ten times happy me!