Fair as the day that bodes as fair a morrow,
With noble brow, with eyes in heaven’s dew,
Of tender years, and charming as the new,
So found I thee,—so found I, too, my sorrow.
O, could I shelter in thy bosom borrow,
There most collected where the most unbent!
O, would this coyness were already spent,
That aye adjourns our union till to-morrow!
But canst thou hate me? Art thou yet unshaken?
Wherefore refusest thou the soft confession
To him who loves, yet feels himself forsaken?
Oh, when thy future love doth make expression,
An anxious rapture will the moment waken,
As with a youthful prince at his accession.
August von Platen-Hallermünde (1796 - 1835) Germany
Translator unknown
Source: The Sonnets of Europe, ed. by Samuel Waddington. London: Walter Scott, 1888
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