Sonnet CXXXII:
Love has no triumph and no future crown
For feeble hearts, that cannot stand the test
Of adverse fortunes—trials wellnigh blest,
Since through his strength we tread opponents down.
The heart that shudders when a blast is blown,
And beats in wild despair its helpless breast,
The May-day reveller who pants for rest
At sunset, Love forever will disown.
We danced in riot through our golden dawn;
We worshiped Love with rites that seemed like play
In shady groves, throughout our middle day;
But see, our evening is already gone,
And darkness filters downward through the gray!
We must draw closer as our night comes on.
