Sonnet Xl:

XL Beneath the stars and yonder waning moon, Over the brooks that sparkle to the main, Through the plumed phalanx of the yellow grain Across the scented fields of teeming June; On summer days, at morn, at eve, at noon, And when the tangled streams of wintry rain Slanted themselves athwart the roaring plain, My patient heart has sung the self-same tune. Like a poor bird, with but a single note, Whose frequent songs, though same and tiresome, prove His constant nature cannot change his throat To suit our pleasure; so, a homely dove, Whether I nestle close, or upward float, I can but cry to thee, I love, I love!