Sonnet CXCII:
To thee I oft have boasted, in my pride,
That come what may, Fate never can annul
Our glorious past—so rich, so warm, so full
Of bliss accomplished and of promise wide.
So step by step together, side by side,
Stooping this rose to smell or that to pull,
We two have fared, without a cloud to dull
Our morn, or noon, or this fair evening-tide.
What is to follow? Death? But let me take
These earthly memories from my dying bed,
Pass with these treasures the abyss of dread,
And I defy hell’s enmity to shake
The lightest ringlet on this musing head,
Or grieve the soul thus dreaming for thy sake.
