Later Sonnets: To the Same on Her Birthday

DEAR, if my secret wishes could have wings
And you had need of aught for happiness,
How would I fly to gather costly things
In lands afar and blue seas fathomless !
What buried gems ; what long-drowned argosies ;
What secrets shut in passionate lute-strings ;
What dust of martyrs agonised in bliss ;
What broken sceptres in the hands of Kings !
How would I fashion these for your delight
In tales of grief and love for ever young,
Till you too dreamed : But that my sluggard wit
Falters and time is heavy on my tongue,
And that you scorn all dreams but the sole right
Of your soul's truth triumphant over wrong.