Sonnet XLIV

The silence that’s between us shall not quell
The love I have for thee, oh darling friend.
How painful that thought is – to stay your friend!
My feelings of compassion are but dells.

To think, this may be all I am to you.
To think, I love you so, but still you are
Oblivious to my love, as high as hills!
How cruel, oh innocence, how cruel are you?

And yet I tend my withering flowerbed
Of hope, of joyful hope, that you love me -
And one day, all this hidden doubt, like trees,
Will sprout from seeds to bliss, and scruples, dead.

My aching love, how insolent thou art!
How hard to live to spurn one’s heart.