Sonnet 54

O love! thou sweet but sorrowful delusion—
Thou golden cup with treacheries o'erflowing:
Thou twixt two hearts—with tendrils strong up-growing
Dost bind them—'till they melt in common fusion.
Earth and heaven's blessedness seems theirs—enjoy
The fleeting moment, for the storm is waking—
It blackens—bursts—and heaven and earth are shaking:
That storm the boat and boatman may destroy.
Daughter of heaven; where art thou? Thou sweet guest,
Whom I have often welcom'd to my breast:
Thou child of flowers—thou fountain-head of care!
I launch'd my bark for thy bright pork—but heaven
Frown'd;—with a broken rose-stem was I driven
Upon the rocks—nought but briars were there.