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English Sonnet
By Brenda B. Covert |
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| Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; But then begins a journey in my head To work my mind, when body's work's expired: | He's worked hard all day and can't wait to go to sleep, but his thoughts are churning. |
| For then my thoughts--from far where I abide-- Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, Looking on darkness which the blind do see: | He's lying there thinking of the woman he loves, and his thoughts keep him awake. |
| Save that my soul's imaginary sight Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. | He sees her in his imagination. He dwells on her beauty. |
| Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, For thee, and for myself, no quiet find. | His body works all day, his mind works all night. He gets no rest. |
| How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. | _____ _____ _____ _____ |
| I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for right; I love thee purely, as they turn from praise, | _____ _____ _____ _____ |
| I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints–I love thee with the breath, | _____ _____ _____ _____ |
| Smiles, tears, of all my life!–and, if God choose, But I shall love thee better after death. | _____ _____ |