Sonnet CXVIII:
My dearest, trust me! I may err and fail
In many ways, through mere humanity,
And draw a tide of precious tears from thee,
And make thy heart with apprehension quail.
These are thy voyager cares. Our ship must sail
A hundred ways, to windward and to lee,
Before the harbor where we fain would be
Flashes its light, and answers to our hail.
But I am faithful as the stars above
By which I steer; nor does my purpose bend,
Nor my fixed vision from their guidance rove.
Of if these lights in stormy clouds have end,
Towards the same point my constant course shall tend,
Led by the trembling magnet of my love.
