XXXVII
Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make
Of all that strong which I know
For thine and thee, an image only so
Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and break.
Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make
Of all that strong which I know
For thine and thee, an image only so
Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and break.
Sonnets from the Portugese
