The speaker claims that he does not need to retain tablets or books of his poems to remember the love that has created his career in writing.
First Quatrain: “Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain”
In the opening quatrain of sonnet 122, the speaker declares that his gift of poetry, which is represented in tablets “full character’d,” is also part of his “brain,” that is, they abide “with lasting memory.” He expands his memory’s ability retain the love that inspired his works “even to eternity.”
The speaker insists that the mental imprint of his poems will remain in his memory, even without his having the physical replicas in his presence. He does not have to read his own poems to know what motivated them. He is implying that the love he feels for his Muse and writing talent are part of his DNA, that is, so close that he needs only his memory.
Second Quatrain: “Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart”
The speaker continues to emphasize his mental capacity, saying that at least he will be able to recall his inspirations “so long as brain and heart / Have faculty by nature to subsist,” or he will remember his motivations as long as he is alive on the physical plane.
He reiterates his claim, and then with a measure of hyperbole, he declaims his ability to keep those memories until his brain and heart “to raz’d oblivion yield his part / Of thee.” He will never forget his love of Muse as long as he can think and feel.
Third Quatrain: “That poor retention could not so much hold”
The speaker then asserts that forgetting is not even relevant when broaching these subjects of his art: his Muse, his talent, the Giver of talent, and Divine Inspiration. He does not have to worry about keeping a physical account of his love; it would be like constantly having to count fingers or look for the eyeballs in his head.
Publishing his works and letting them find an audience requires that he be “bold.” He can let his books be sold without losing what motivated his writing them. The “tables” of the mind and heart are the ones that “receive [the love of the Giver] more” than the paper on which the poems rest.
The Couplet: “To keep an adjunct to remember thee”
The speaker then avers that the physical tokens of his works are superfluous, and he thinks such would actually “import forgetfulness in me.” Keeping his own books constantly in his presence would imply that he could somehow forget his own love and inspiration, and the speaker has taken great pains to counter that misconception.
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