The Eighth Sonnet

Thus I vowed in darkest time,
To harbor sword and plowshare both,
For love of life, for love of rhyme,
And likewise for my dear betroth'd.
Yet love of life is love of fear,
And hands of fear to arms do stray,
One life I have for one so dear,
And I cannot my sword hand stay.
Ah! That we lived in spring-kiss'd lands,
And shelter'd from the feckless blades,
That do the will of feckless hands
And lurk among tenebrous glades.
The love of peace I yearn to feel,
And yet I fear the kiss of steel!