Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXXV

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchangeAnd be all to me? Shall I never missHome-talk and blessing and the common kissThat comes to each in turn, nor count it strange,When I look up, to drop on a new rangeOf walls and floors, another home than this?Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which isFilled by dead eyes too tender to know change?That's hardest. If to conquer, love has tried,To conquer grief, tries more, as all things prove,For grief indeed is love and grief beside.Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love.Yet love me-wilt thou? Open thine heart wide,And fold within the wet wings of thy dove.