Because thy Flame is Spent

Because thy flame is spent, shall mine grow less,

O bud, O wonder of the opening rose?

Why both my soul and Love it would disgrace

If I could trade in love, begin and close

My long account of passion, like a book

Of merchant’s credit given to be repaid,

Or not returned, struck off with lowering look

Like a bad debt uncritically made.

What thou couldst give, thou gav’st me, one sweet smile

Worth all the sunlight that the years contain,

One month of months when thy sweet spirit awhile

Fluttered o’er mine half-thinking to remain.

What I could give, I gave thee, to my last breath

Immortal love, immovable by death.

Read The Sonnet Online: Click here to read