Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXV

A heavy heart, Belovèd, have I borneFrom year to year until I saw thy face,And sorrow after sorrow took the placeOf all those natural joys as lightly wornAs the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turnBy a beating heart at dance-time. Hopes apaceWere changed to long despairs, till God's own graceCould scarcely lift above the world forlornMy heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me bringAnd let it drop adown thy calmly greatDeep being! Fast it sinketh, as a thingWhich its own nature doth precipitate,While thine doth close above it, mediatingBetwixt the stars and the unaccomplished fate.