Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXXVI

When we met first and loved, I did not buildUpon the event with marble. Could it meanTo last, a love set pendulous betweenSorrow and sorrow? Nay, I rather thrilled,Distrusting every light that seemed to gildThe onward path, and feared to overleanA finger even. And, though I have grown sereneAnd strong since then, I think that God has willedA still renewable fear . . . O love, O troth . . .Lest these enclaspèd hands should never hold,This mutual kiss drop down between us bothAs an unowned thing, once the lips being cold.And Love, be false! if he, to keep one oath,Must lose one joy, by his life's star foretold.