Sonnet VIII

What can I give thee back, O liberal

And princely giver,.. who hast brought the gold

And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold,

And laid them on the outside of the wall,

For such as I to take, or leave withal,

In unexpected largesse? Am I cold,

Ungrateful, that for these most manifold

High gifts, I render nothing back at all?

Not so. Not cold!—but very poor instead!

Ask God who knows! for frequent tears have run

The colours from my life, and left so dead

And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done

To give the same as pillow to thy head.

Go farther! Let it serve to trample on.