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.