L’amor che muove il sole e l’altre stelle.

I plucked a honeysuckle where The hedge on high is quick with thorn, And climbing for the prize, was torn, And fouled my feet in quag-water; And by the thorns and by the wind The blossom that I took was thinn’d, And yet I found it sweet and fair.

Love, which is quickly kindled in the gentle heart, seized this man for the fair form that was taken from me, the manner still hurts me. Love which absolves no beloved one from loving, seized me so strongly with his charm that, as thou seest, it does not leave me yet.

Sometimes thou seem’st not as thyself alone, But as the meaning of all things that are.

Gather a shell from the strewn beach And listen at its lips: they sigh The same desire and mystery, The echo of the whole sea’s speech.

I am not as these are, the poet saithIn youth’s pride, and the painter, among menAt bay, where never pencil comes nor pem.

Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been; I am also call’d No-more, Too-late, Farewell;.

You have been mine before – How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow’s soar, your neck turned so, Some veil did fall, – I knew it all of yore.

The sea hath no king but God alone.

I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. ... You have been mine before, How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow's soar Your neck turned so, Some veil did fall - I knew it all of yore. Has this been thus before? And shall not thus time's eddying flight Still with our lives our love restore In death's despite, And day and night yield one delight once more