2. _LXXIX Sonnets. Daniel Press, 1889. This edition was copied in America._ 3. _Do. do. Black letter. 1890._ 4. _LXIX Sonnets. Smith, Elder & Co. Vol. I, 1898._ THE GROWTH OF LOVE 1 They that in play can do the thing they would, Having an instinct throned in reason's place, --And every perfect action hath the grace Of indolence or thoughtless hardihood-- These are the best: yet be there workmen good Who lose in earnestness control of face, Or reckon means, and rapt in effort base Reach to their end by steps well understood. Me whom thou sawest of late strive with the pains Of one who spends his strength to rule his nerve, --Even as a painter breathlessly who strains His scarcely moving hand lest it should swerve-- Behold me, now that I have cast my chains, Master of the art which for thy sake I serve. 2 For thou art mine: and now I am ashamed To have usèd means to win so pure acquist, And of my trembling fear that might have misst Thro' very care the gold at which I aim'd; And am as happy but to hear thee named, As are those gentle souls by angels kisst In pictures seen leaving their marble cist To go before the throne of grace unblamed. Nor surer am I water hath the skill To quench my thirst, or that my strength is freed In delicate ordination as I will, Than that to be myself is all I need For thee to be most mine: so I stand still, And save to taste my joy no more take heed. 3 The whole world now is but the minister Of thee to me: I see no other scheme But universal love, from timeless dream Waking to thee his joy's interpreter. I walk around and in the fields confer Of love at large with tree and flower and stream, And list the lark descant upon my theme, Heaven's musical accepted worshipper. Thy smile outfaceth ill: and that old feud 'Twixt things and me is quash'd in our new truce; And nature now dearly with thee endued No more in shame ponders her old excuse, But quite forgets her frowns and antics rude, So kindly hath she grown to her new use. 4 The very names of things belov'd are dear, And sounds will gather beauty from their sense, As many a face thro' love's long residence Groweth to fair instead of plain and sere: But when I say thy name it hath no peer, And I suppose fortune determined thence Her dower, that such beauty's excellence Should have a perfect title for the ear. Thus may I think the adopting Muses chose Their sons by name, knowing none would be heard Or writ so oft in all the world as those,-- Dan Chaucer, mighty Shakespeare, then for third The classic Milton, and to us arose Shelley with liquid music in the word. 5