Sonnet 51

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence

Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed.

From where thou art why should I haste me thence?

Till I return, of posting is no need:

O, what excuse will my poor beast then find,

When swift extremity can seem but slow?

Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind;

In wingèd speed no motion shall I know.

Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;

Therefore, desire, of perfect’st love being made,

Shall weigh no dull flesh in his fiery race,

But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade.

Since from thee going he went wilful-slow,

Towards thee I’ll run, and give him leave to go.

I forgive my horse her slowness

When we leave. Why should I rush

When it’s from you that I place

Distance? When I come back, I’ll push.

My horse will find no excuse then,

When the speed of light will seem too slow.

I’ll thrust my spurs into her sides then,

And at her fastest, ask her: “Why do we not go?”

No horse, then, will keep pace with my desire,

And it will rage, though all inspired

By tranquil love. It will demand a chariot of fire.

But love will see my poor horse is excused.

This time we’re slowed, by heartache, odyssey—

Returning, we’ll be more like the air than the sea.