ELEVEN SONNETS

I will not close the door, O Love, on thee,

Although I fear thee still. In days of old

Thy magic echoes lured me on to be

The slave of dreams; but now that I behold

The earth again, and that my wings are gone,

I will take refuge, simply, on thy breast.

No miracle I seek, no rapturous dawn

Of an unearthly day; I will but rest

My weary eyes, and lay between thy hands

These empty fingers that have ceased to clutch

At stars. Because my spirit understands

Renouncement, thou wilt give, maybe. Not much

I ask of thee: I only ask to keep

Thee near, O Love! until my heart's asleep.