SONNETS I

Love dwelled with me with music on her lips;

Beauty has quickened me to passion; prayer

Has cried from me before I was aware

When grief was scourging me with scarlet whips.

The gods gave me to follies false and fair;

Made me the object of immortal quips,

But I am recompensed with comradeships

That gods themselves would be content to share.

The time of play has been, of wisdom, is;

Yet who can say which is the truly wise?

Enough that I have stayed Love with a kiss,

That Beauty has found welcome in my eyes;

Though the long poplar path leads dark before,

Up to the white inevitable door.