Sonnets from the Portuguese i

I THOUGHT once how Theocritus had sung 
Of the sweet years the dear and wish'd-for years  
Who each one in a gracious hand appears 
To bear a gift for mortals old or young: 
And as I mused it in his antique tongue 5 
I saw in gradual vision through my tears 
The sweet sad years the melancholy years¡ª 
Those of my own life who by turns had flung 
A shadow across me.
 Straightway I was 'ware  
So weeping how a mystic Shape did move 10 
Behind me and drew me backward by the hair; 
And a voice said in mastery while I strove  
'Guess now who holds thee?'¡ª'Death ' I said.
 But there 
The silver answer rang¡ª'Not Death but Love.
' 

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