Poems (Hardy)/The love-sonnet
THE LOVE-SONNET
THERE lies a little mirrored pool alone,
And far from traveled ways, this side the crest
Of day where morning dwells; fair on its breast
A planet shines at night, as if its own
Flame would transform the pool into a stone
Of splendor, fit for crowned Esther, dressed
In coronation glory, for her quest
Before Ahasuerus on his throne.
This little pool,—ah, let me look therein,
And see whence well its waters, pure and clear.
No wiser than the bird whose image darts
From edge to edge! Nor never shall I win
That secret. Shakespeare knew, and she, that dear
And great one, first in Browning's heart of hearts.
And far from traveled ways, this side the crest
Of day where morning dwells; fair on its breast
A planet shines at night, as if its own
Flame would transform the pool into a stone
Of splendor, fit for crowned Esther, dressed
In coronation glory, for her quest
Before Ahasuerus on his throne.
This little pool,—ah, let me look therein,
And see whence well its waters, pure and clear.
No wiser than the bird whose image darts
From edge to edge! Nor never shall I win
That secret. Shakespeare knew, and she, that dear
And great one, first in Browning's heart of hearts.