A lover heading away from his beloved admits he doesn’t mind his horse’s lazy pace. Parting feels so wrong that there’s no reason to hurry from the person he’s leaving. What really troubles him is the return trip. Then even the wind will feel too slow: his desire will be so fierce he’d spur himself, not the horse, and barely notice any motion at all. He pictures his longing as a fiery, neighing creature—no plodding animal—racing ahead. In the end, love strikes a tender bargain. Since the horse dragged its hooves on the way out, it’s forgiven; the speaker will do all the rushing back himself. The mood is playful and warm, balancing the ache of absence with a witty, almost giddy anticipation. It’s a clever twist that makes the slow journey away bearable by imagining how love will outrun everything to reunite.
Sonnet 51: Thus can my love excuse the slow offence — Summary
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 winged speed no motion shall I know, Then can no horse with my desire keep pace; Therefore desire, of perfect'st love being made, Shall neigh--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.'