Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXI

Say over again, and yet once over again,That thou dost love me. Though the word repeatedShould seem a ."cuckoo-song,." as thou dost treat it.Remember, never to the hill or plain,Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strainComes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.Belovèd, I, amid the darkness greetedBy a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's painCry, ."Speak once more-thou lovest!." Who can fearToo many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year?Say thou dost love me, love me, love me-tollThe silver iterance!-only minding, Dear,To love me also in silence with thy soul.