Richard Watson Gilder

The New Day. Part 1. 1. Sonnet (I know not if I love her overmuch)

           (AFTER THE ITALIAN)

I know not if I love her overmuch;
⁠     But this I know, that when unto her face
⁠     She lifts her hand, which rests there, still, a space,
⁠     Then slowly falls—'t is I who feel that touch.
And when she sudden shakes her head, with such
⁠     A look, I soon her secret meaning trace.
⁠     So when she runs I think 't is I who race.
     ⁠Like a poor cripple who has lost his crutch
I am if she is gone; and when she goes,
⁠     I know not why, for that is a strange art—
     ⁠As if myself should from myself depart.
I know not if I love her more than those
⁠     Who long her light have known; but for the rose
     ⁠She covers in her hair, I'd give my heart.