Sonnets from the Portuguese: XV

Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wearToo calm and sad a face in front of thine;For we two look two ways, and cannot shineWith the same sunlight on our brow and hair.On me thou lookest with no doubting care,As on a bee shut in a crystalline;Since sorrow hath shut me safe in love's divine,And to spread wing and fly in the outer airWere most impossible failure, if I stroveTo fail so. But I look on thee-on thee-Beholding, besides love, the end of love,Hearing oblivion beyond memory;As one who sits and gazes from above,Over the rivers to the bitter sea.