Sonnets from the Portuguese: XL

Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth:I have heard love talked in my early youth,And since, not so long back but that the flowersThen gathered, smell still. Mussulmans and GiaoursThrow kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruthFor any weeping. Polypheme's white toothSlips on the nut if, after frequent showers,The shell is over-smooth,-and not so muchWill turn the thing called love, aside to hateOr else to oblivion. But thou art not suchA lover, my Belovèd! thou canst waitThrough sorrow and sickness, to bring souls to touch,And think it soon when others cry ."Too late.."