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《SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE AND OTHER LOVE POEMS》
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)
An English poet widely read by her poraries, Elizabeth Barrett Browning was born the eldest of eleven children in Coxhoe Hall near Durham. The family moved to Hope End in Herefordshire in 1809 where Elizabeth spent her childhood. An avid reader, she was educated at home where her father gave her access to his classical library. Her first volume of poems rivately published when she was 14.
She suffered from ill health for most of her life. Her mother died in 1828 and her father was forced to sell Hope End in 1832 during the Abolition movement with the result that the family moved to London. Ten years later Elizabeth was more or less an invalid, but used her fio write
Poems (1844) which was celebrated by all and which led to her introdu by letter to the poet Robert Browning. She also became a good friend of Miss Mitford at this time. On 12 September 1846 she destinely married Browning, and moved immediately to Italy. They settled in Florence, in Casa Guidi where in 1849 sh９９ｌｉｂ?e gave birth to a son, Robert Wiedeman Barrett
Browning.
Her health improved greatly during her years in Italy, allowio travel throughout Europe. By the time of the publication of Aurora Leigh, a poem dealing with the restris imposed on women by Victorian soci９９lib.ety, she was firmly established as a poet of distin. In fact, most of her work expresses her for the liberal causes of her day, including the cause of Italian nationalism. The Sos from the Puese (1850) altered the ventions of the love so by the use of a tone of playful humour. In the last years of her life she was influenced by the popular i in spiritualism. The Poems Before gress (1860), although written in her final years when her health was deteriorating, are said to tain some of her most forceful aiful lyrics.
A Child Asleep
A Child Asleep
How he sleepeth! having drunken
Weary childhoods mandragore,
From his pretty eyes have sunken
Pleasures, to make room for more---
Sleepihe withered nosegay, which he pulled the藏书网 day before.
Nosegays! leave them for the waking:
Throw them earthward where they grew.
Dim are such, beside the breaking
Amaranths he looks unto---
Folded eyes see brighter colours than the open ever do.
Heaven-flowers, rayed by shadows golden
From the paths they sprah,
Now perhaps divinely holde藏书网n,
Swing against him in a wreath---
We may think so from the quiing of his bloom and of his breath.
Vision unto vision calleth,
While the young child dreameth on.
Fair, O dreamer, thee befalleth
With the glory thou hast won!
Darker wert thou in the gardeermorn, by summer sun.
We should see the spirits ringing
.99lib.Round thee,---were the clouds away.
Tis the child-heart draws them, singing
In the silent-seeming clay---
Singing!---Stars that seem the mutest, go in music all the way.
As the moths around a taper,
As the bees around a rose,
As the gnats around a vapour,---
So the Spirits group and close
Round about a holy childhood, as if drinking its repose.
Shapes htness overlean thee,---
Flash their diadems of youth
On the ris which half s thee,---
While thou smilest, . . . not in sooth
Thy smile . . . but the overfair one, dropt from some aethereal mouth.
Haply it is angels duty,
During slumber, shade by shade:
To fine down this childish beauty
To the thing it must be made,
Ere the world shall bring it praises, or the tomb shall see it fade.
Softly, softly! make no noises!
Now he lieth dead and dumb---
Now he hears the angels voices
Folding silen the room---
Now he muses deep the meaning of the Heaven-words as they e.
Speak not! he is secrated---
Breathe no breath across his eyes.
Lifted up and separated,
On the hand of God he lies,
In a sweetness beyond toug---held in cloistral sanctities.
Could ye bless him---father---mother ?
Bless the dimple in his cheek?
Dare ye look at one another,
And the beion speak?
Would ye not break out in weeping, and fess yourselves too weak?
He is harmless---ye are sinful,---
Ye are troubled---he, at ease:
From his slumber, virtue winful
Floweth outward with increase---
Dare not bless him! but be blessed by his peace---and go in peace.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
A Curse For A Nation
A Curse For A Nation
I heard an angel speak last night,
And he said Write!
Write a Nations curse for me,
And send it over the Western Sea.
I faltered, taking up the word:
Not so, my lord!
If curses must be, choose another
To send thy curse against my brother.
For I am bound by gratitude,
By love and blood,
To brothers of mine across the sea,
Who stretch out kindly hands to me.
Therefore, the voice said, shalt thou write
My curse to-night.
From the summits of love a curse is driven,
As lightning is from the tops of heaven.
Not so, I answered. Evermore
My heart is sore
For my own lands sins: for little feet
Of children bleeding along the street:
For parked-up honors that gainsay
The right of way:
For almsgiving through a door that is
Not open enough for two friends to kiss:
For love of freedom which abates
Beyond the Straits:
For patriot virtue starved to vi
Self-praise, self-i, and suspi:
For an oligarchic parliament,
And bribes well-meant.
What curse to another land assign,
When heavy-souled for the sins of mine?
Therefore, the voice said, shalt thou write
My curse to-night.
Because thou hast strength to see and hate
A foul thing dohin thy gate.
Not so, I answered once again.
To curse, en.
For I, a woman, have only known
How the heart melts and the tears run down.
Therefore, the voice said, shalt thou write
My curse to-night.
Some women weep and curse, I say
(And no one marvels), night and day.
And thou shalt take their part to-night,
Weep and write.
A curse from the depths of womanhood
Is very salt, and bitter, and good.
So thus I wrote, and mourned indeed,
What all may read.
And thus, as was enjoined on me,
I.9９ｌiｂ? send it over the Western Sea.
The Curse
Because ye have broken your own
With the strain
Of brave men climbing a Natio,
Yet thence bear down with brand and thong
On souls of others, -- for this wrong
This is the curse. Write.
Because yourselves are standing straight
Iate
Of Freedoms foremost acolyte,
Yet keep calm footing all the time
On writhing bond-slaves, -- for this crime
This is the curse. Write.
Because ye prosper in Gods name,
With a claim
To honor in the old worlds sight,
Yet do the fiends work perfectly
In strangling martyrs, -- for this lie
This is the curse. Write.
Ye shall watch while kings spire
Round the peoples smouldering fire,
And, warm for your part,
Shall never dare -- O shame!
To utter the thought into flame
Which burns at your heart.
This is the curse. Write.
Ye shall watch while nations strive
With the bloodhounds, die or survive,
Drop faint from their jaws,
Or throttle them backward to death;
And only under your breath
Shall favor the cause.
This is the curse. Write.
Ye shall watch while strong men draw
The s of feudal law
Tle the weak;
And, ting the sin for a sin,
Your soul shall be sadder within
Than the word ye shall speak.
This is the curse. Write.
When good men are prayi
That Christ may avenge His elect
And deliver the earth,
The prayer in your ears, said low,
Shall sound like the tramp of a foe
Thats driving you forth.
This is the curse. Write.
When wise men give you their praise,
They shall praise in the heat of the phrase,
As if carried too far.
When ye boast your own charters kept true,
Ye shall blush; for the thing which ye do
Derides what ye are.
This is the curse. Write.
When fools cast taunts at yate,
Your s ye shall somewhat abate
As ye look oer the wall;
For your sce, tradition, and name
Explode with a deadlier blame
Than the worst of them all.
This is the curse. Write.
Go, wherever ill deeds shall be done,
Go, plant your flag in the sun
Beside the ill-doers!
And recoil from g the curse
Of Gods witnessing Universe
With a curse of yours.
This is the curse. Write.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
A Dead Rose
A Dead Rose
O Rose! who dares to hee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat,---
Kept seven years in a drawer---thy titles shame thee.
The breeze that used to blow thee
Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away
An odour up the lao last all day,---
If breathing now,---uened would fo thee.
The sun that used to smite thee,
And mix his glory in thy geous urn,
Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn,---
If shini?９９lｉｂ?ng now,---with not a hue would light thee.
The dew that used to wet thee,
And, white first, grow inadined, because
It lay upon thee where the crimson was,---
If dropping no九九藏书w,---would darken where it met thee.
The fly that lit upon thee,
To stretch the tendrils of its ti,
Along thy leafs pure edges, after heat,---
If lighting now,---would coldly overrun thee.
The ?９９lｉb.bee that once did suck thee,
And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive,
And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive,---
If passing now,---would blindly overlook thee.
The heart dhee,
Alone, alohe heart doth smell thee sweet,
Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most plete,---
Though seeing now those ges that disguise thee.
Yes, and the heart doth owe thee
More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold
As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!---
Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
A Mans Requirements
A Mans Requirements
I
Love me Sweet, with all thou art,
Feeling, thinking, seeing;
Love me in the lightest part,
Love me in full being.
II
Love me with thine open youth
In its frank surrender;
With the vowing of thy mouth,
With its sileerike>九九藏书r.
III
Love me with thine azure eyes,
Made for ear grantings;
Taking p>99lib.ur from the skies,
Heavens truth be wanting?
IV
Love me with their lids, that fall
Snow-like at first meeting;
Love me with thi, that all
Neighbours then see beating.
V
Love me with thine hand stretched out
Freely -- open-minded:
Love me with thy l foot, --
Hearing one behind it.
VI
Love me with thy voice, that turns
Sudden faint above me;
Love me with thy blush that burns
When I murmur Love me!
VII
Love me with thy thinking soul.９9liｂ.,
Break it to love-sighing;
Love me with thy thoughts that roll
On through living -- dying.
VIII
Love me in thy geous airs,
When the world has ed thee;
Love me, kneeling at thy prayers,
With the angels round thee.
IX
Love me pure, as muses do,
Up the woodlands shady:
Love me gaily, fast and true,
As a winsome lady.
X
Through all hopes that keep us brave,
Farther off her,
Love me for the house and grave,
And for something higher.
XI
Thus, if thou wilt prove me, Dear,
Womans love no fable,
I will love thee -- half a year --
As a man is able.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning99lib.
A Musical Instrument
A Musical Instrument
What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat
With the dragon-fly on the river.
He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
From the deep cool bed of the river:
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
And the dragon-fly had fled away,
Ere he brought it out of the river.
Hi九九藏书gh on the shore sat the great god Pan
While turbidly flowed the river;
And hacked and hewed as a great god ,
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed
To prove it fresh from the river.
He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
(How tall it stood in the river!)
Thehe pith, like the heart of a man,
Steadily from the outside ring,
And notched the poor dry empty thing
In holes, as he sat by the river.
This is the way, laughed the great god Pan
(Laughed while he sat by the river),
The only way, since gods began
To make sweet music, they could succeed.
Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,
He blew in power by the river.
Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
Pierg swee九九藏书t by the river!
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the hill fot to die,
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly
Came back to dream on the river.
Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man:
The true gods sigh for the cost and pain, --
For the reed which grows nevermain
As a reed with the reeds in the river.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.9９lib?
A Sea-Side Walk
A Sea-Side Walk
We walked beside the sea,
After a day which perished silently
Of its own glory---like the Princess weird
Who, bating the Genius, scor99lib?ched and seared,
Uttered with burning breath, Ho! victory!
And sank adown, an heap of ashes pale;
So runs the Arab tale.
The sky above us showed
An universal and unmoving cloud,
On which, the cliffs permitted us to see
Only the outline of their majesty,
As master-minds, when gazed at by the crowd!
And, shining with a gloom, the water grey
Swang in its moon-taught way.
Nor moon nor stars were out.
They did not dare to tread so soon about,
Though trembling, in the footsteps of the sun.
The light was her nights nor days, but one
Which, life-like, had a beauty in its doubt;
And Silences impassioned breathings round
Seemed wandering into sound.
O solemi
Of nature! I have knowledge that thou art
Bound unto mans by cords he ot sever---
And, what time they are slaed by him ever,
So to attest his own supernal part,
Still ruhy vibration fast and strong,
The slaed cord along.
For though we never spoke
Of the grey water anal the shad.99lｉb.ed rock,---
Dark wave and stone, unsciously, were fused
Into the plaintive speaking that we used,
Of absent friends and memories unforsook;
And, had we seen each others face, we had
Seen haply, each was sad.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
A Thought For A Lonely Death-Bed
A Thought For A Lonely Death-Bed.99lib.
IF God pel thee to this destiny,
To die alone, with none beside thy bed
To ruffle round with sobs thy last word said
And mark with tears the pulses ebb from thee,--
Pray then alone, O Christ, e tenderly !
By thy forsaken Sonship in the red
Drear wit>ress,--by the wilderness out-spread,--
And the lone gardehine agony
Fell bloody from thy brow,--by all of t99lｉb?hose
Permitted desolations, ine !
hly friend being near99lib? me, interpose
hly awixt my face aud thine,
But stoop Thyself to gathe藏书网r my lifes rose,
And smile away my mortal to Divine !
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
A Womans Shortcomings
A Womans Shortings
She has laughed as softly as if she sighed,
She has ted six, and over,
Of a purse wel.99lib.l filled, and a heart well tried -
Oh, each a worthy lover!
They "give her time"; for her soul must slip
Where the world has set the grooving;
She will lie to h her fair red lip:
But love seeks truer loving.
She trembles her fan in a sweetness dumb,
As her thoughts were beyond recalling;
With a glance for one, and a glance for some,
From her eyelids rising and falling;
Speaks on words with a blushful air,
Hears bold words, unreproving;
But her silence says - what she never will swear -
And love seeks better loving.
Go, lady! lean to the night-guitar,
And drop a sm99lib?ile to the bringer;
Then smile as sweetly, when he is far,
At the voice of an in-door singer.
Bask tenderly beh tender eyes;
Glance lightly, on their removing;
And join new vows to old perjuries -
But dare not call it loving!
Unless you think, when the song is done,
No other is soft in the rhythm;
Unless you feel, whe by One,
That all men else go with him;
Unless you know, when unpraised by his breath,
That your beauty itself wants proving;
Unless you swear "For life, for death!" -
Oh, fear to call it loving!
Unless you muse in a crowd al九九藏书l day
On the absent face that fixed you;
Unless you love, as the angels may,
With the breadth of heavewixt you;
Unless you dream that his faith is fast,
Through behoving and unbehoving;
Unless you die when the dream is past -
Oh, never call it loving!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
A Years Spinning
A Years Spinning
1
He liste the porch that day,
To hear the wheel go on, and on;
And then it stopp?９9ｌiｂ.ed, ran back away,
While through the door he brought the sun:
But now my spinning is all done.
2
He sat beside me, with an oath
That love neer ended, once begun;
I smiled--believing for us both,
What was the truth for only one:
And now my spinning is all done.
3
My mother cursed me that I heard
A young mans wooing as I spun:
Thanks, cruel mother, for that word--
For I have, .99lib.since, a harder known!
And now my spinning is all done.
4
I thought--O God!--my first-borns cry
Both voices to mine ear would drown:
I listened in mine agony--
It was the silence made me groan!
And now my spinning is all done.
5
Bury me twixt my mrave,
(Who cursed me on her death-bed lone)
And my dead babys (God it save!)
Who, not to bless me, would not moan.
And now my spinning is all done.
6
A stone upon my heart and head,
But no name written oone!
Sweet neighbours, whisper low instead,
"This sinner was a loving one--
And now her spinning is all done."
7
Ahe door ajar remain,
In case he should pass by anon;
And leave the wheel out very plain,--
That HE, when passing in the sun,
May see the spinning is all done.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Adequacy
Adequacy
NOW, by the verdure on thy t99lib.housand hills,
Beloved England, doth the earth appear
Quite good enough for men to overbear
The will of God in, with rebellious wills !
We ot say the m-sun fulfils
Ingloriously its course, nor that the clear
Strong stars without signifisphere
Our.99lib. habitation: we, meantime, our ills
Heap up against this good and lift a cry
Against this work-day world, t99lib.his ill-spread feast,
As if ourselves wer?9９lｉｂ?e better certainly
Than what we e to. Maker and High Priest,
I ask thee not my joys to multi.99liｂ.ply,--
Only to make me worthier of the least.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
An Apprehension
An Apprehension
IF all the ge-hearted friends I know
tred in o their gentleness,
That still grew geill its pulse was less
For life than pity,--I should yet be slow
T my own hea.99lib.rt nakedly below
The palm of such a friend, that he should press
M九九藏书otive, dition, means, appliances,
My false ideal joy and fickle woe,
Out full to light and knowledge; I should fear
Some plait between the brows, sher chime
In the free voice. O angels, let your flood
Of bitter s dash on me ! do ye hear
What I say who hear calmly all the time
This everlasting face to face with GOD ?
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Aurora Leigh (excerpts)
Aurora Leigh (excerpts)
[Book 1]
I am like,
They tell me, my dear father. Broader brows
Howbeit, upon a slenderer undergrowth
Of delicate features, -- paler, near as grave ;
But then my mothers smile breaks up the whole,
And makes it better sometimes than itself.
So, nine full years, 九九藏书our days were hid with God
Among his mountains : I was just thirteen,
Still growing like the plants from unseen roots
In toied Springs, -- and suddenly awoke
To full life and life s needs and agonies,
With an interong, struggli beside
A stone-dead father. Life, struck sharp oh,
Makes awful lightning. His last word was, `Love --
`Love, my child, love, love ! -- (then he had doh grief)
`Love, my child. Ere I answered he was gone,
And none was left to love in all the world.
There, ended childhood. What succeeded
I recollect as, after fevers, men
Thread back the passage of delirium,
Missing the turn still九九藏书, baffled by the door ;
Smooth endless days, notched here and there with knives ;
A weary, wormy darkness, spurrd i the flank
With flame, that it should eat and end itself
Like some tormented scorpion. Then at last
I do remember clearly, how there came
A stranger with authority, nht,
(I thought not) who anded, caught me up
From old Assuntas neck ; how, with a shriek,
She let me go, -- while I, with ears too full
Of my fathers sileo shriek back a word,
In all a childs astonishment at grief
Stared at the wharf-edge where she stood and moaned,
My poor Assunta, where she stood and moaned !
The white walls, the blue hills, my Italy,
Drawn backward from the shuddering steamer-deck,
Like one in anger drawing back her skirts
Which supplits catch at. Theter sea
Inexorably pushed between us both,
And sweeping up the ship with my despair
Threw us out as a pasture to the stars.
Ten nights and days we voyaged on the deep ;
Ten nights and days, without the on face
Of any day ht ; the moon and sun
Cut off from the green reg earth,
To starve into a blind ferocity
And glare unnatural ; the very sky
(Dropping its bell- down upon the sea
As if no huma should scape alive,)
Bedraggled with the desolating salt,
Until it seemed no more that holy heaven
To which my father went. All new and strange
The universe turranger, for a child.
Then, land ! -- then, England ! oh, the frosty cliffs
Looked cold upon me. Could I find a home
Among those mean red houses through the fog ?
And when I heard my fathers language first
From alien lips which had no kiss for mine
I wept aloud, then laughed, the, the,
And some one near me said the child was mad
Through much sea-siess. The trai us on.
Was this my fathers England ? the great isle ?
The ground seemed cut up from the fellowship
Of verdure, field from field, as man from man ;
The skies themselves looked loositive,
As almost you could touch them with a hand,
And dared to do it they were so far off
From Gods celestial crystals ; all things blurred
And dull and vague. Did Shakspeare and his mates
Absorb the light here ? -- not a hill or stone
With heart to strike a radiant colour up
Or active outline on the indifferent air.
I think I see my fathers sister stand
Upon the hall-step of her try-house
To give me wele. She stood straight and calm,
Her somewhat narrow forehead braided tight
As if for taming actal thoughts
From possible pulses ; broricked with grey
By frigid use of life, (she was not old
Although my fathers elder by a year)
A nose drawn sharply yet in delicate lines ;
A ild mouth, a little soured about
The ends, through speaking ued loves
Or peradventure niggardly half-truths ;
Eyes of no colour, -- ohey might have smiled,
But never, never have fot themselves
In smiling ; cheeks, in which was yet a rose
Of perished summers, like a rose in a book,
Kept more for ruth than pleasure, -- if past bloom,
Past fading also.
She had lived, well say,
A harmless life, she called a virtuous life,
A quiet life, which was not life at all,
(But that, she had not lived enough to know)
Between the vicar and the try squires,
The lord-lieutenant looking down sometimes
From the empyrean to assure their souls
Against ce-vulgarisms, and, in the abyss
The apothecary, looked on once a year
To prove their soundness of humility.
The poor-club exercised her Christian gifts
Of knitting stogs, stitg petticoats,
Because we are of one flesh after all
And need one flannel (with a proper sense
Of differen the quality) -- and still
The book-club, guarded from your modern trick
Of shaking dangerous questions from the crease,
Preserved her intellectual. She had lived
A sort of cage-bird life, born in a cage,
Ating that to leap from perch to perch
Was ad joy enough for any bird.
Dear heaven, how silly are the things that live
In thickets, a berries !
I, alas,
A wild bird scarcely fledged, was brought te,
And she was there to meet me. Very kind.
Bring the water, give out the fresh seed.
She stood upoeps to wele,
Calm, in black garb. I g about her neck, --
Young babes, who catch at every shred of wool
To draw the new light closer, catd g
Less blindly. In my ears, my fathers word
Hummed ignorantly, as the sea in shells,
`Love, love, my child. She, black there with my grief,
Might feel my love -- she was his sister once,
I g to her. A moment, she seemed moved,
Kissed me with cold lips, suffered me to g,
And drew me feebly through the hall into
The room she sate in.
There, with some strange spasm
Of pain and passion, she wrung loose my hands
Imperiously, and held me at arms length,
And with two grey-steel naked-bladed eyes
Searched through my face, -- ay, stabbed it through and through,
Through brows and cheeks and , as if to find
A wicked murderer in my i face,
If not here, there perhaps. Then, drawing breath,
She struggled for her ordinary calm
And missed it rather, -- told me not to shrink,
As if she had told me not to lie or swear, --
`She loved my father, and would love me too
As long as I deserved it. Very kind.
[Book 5]
AURORA LEIGH, be humble. Shall I hope
To speak my poems in mysterious tune
With man and nature ? -- with the lava-lymph
That trickles from successive galaxies
Still drop by drop adown the finger of God
In still new worlds ? -- with summer-days in this ?
That scarce dare breathe they are so beautiful ?--
With springs delicious trouble in the ground,
Tormented by the quied blood of roots,
And softly pricked by golden crocus-sheaves
In token of the harvest-time of flowers ?--
With winters and with autumns, -- and beyond,
With the humas large seasons, when it hopes
And fears, joys, grieves, and loves ? -- with all that .99lib.strain
Of sexual passion, which devours the flesh
In a sacrament of souls ? with mothers breasts
Which, round the new-made creatures hanging there,
Throb luminous and harmonious like pure spheres ? --
With multitudinous life, and finally
With the great esgs of ecstatic souls,
Who, in a rush of too long prisoned flame,
Their radiant faces upward, burn away
This dark of the body, issuing on a world,
Beyond our mortal ? -- I speak my verse
Sp plainly in tuo these things and the rest,
That men shall feel it catch them on the quick,
As having the same warrant over them
To hold and move them if they will or no,
Alike imperious as the primal rhythm
Of that theurgiature ? I must fail,
Who fail at the beginning to hold and move
One man, -- and he my cousin, and he my friend,
And he born tender, made intelligent,
Ined to pohe precipitous sides
Of difficult questions ; yet, obtuse to me,
Of me, incurious ! likes me very well,
And wishes me a paradise of good,
Good looks, good means, and good digestion, -- ay,
But otherwise evades me, puts me off
With kindness, with a toleraleness, --
Too light a book frave mans reading ! Go,
Aurora Leigh : be humble.
There it is,
We womeoo apt to look to One,
Which proves a certain impoten art.
We strain our natures at doing something great,
Far less because it s something great to do,
Than haply that we, so, end ourselves
As being not small, and more appreciable
To some one friend. We must have mediators
Betwixt hest sd the judge ;
Some sweet saints blood must qui in our palms
Or all the life in heaven seems slow and cold :
Good only being perceived as the end of good,
And God alone pleased, -- thats too poor, we think,
And not enough for us by any means.
Ay, Romney, I remember, told me once
We miss the abstract when we prehend.
We miss it most when ire, -- and fail.
Yet, so, I will not. -- This vile womans way
Of trailing garments, shall not trip me up :
I ll have no traffic with the personal thought
In arts pure temple. Must I work in vain,
Without the approbation of a man ?
It ot be ; it shall not. Fame itself,
That approbation of the general race,
Presents a poor end, (though the arrow speed,
Shot straight with vigorous fio the white,)
And the highest fame was never reached except
By what was aimed above it. Art for art,
And good fod Himself, the essential Good !
We ll keep our aims sublime, our eyes erect,
Although our woman-hands should shake and fail ;
And if we fail .. But must we ? --
Shall I fail ?
The Greeks said grandly iragic phrase,
`Let no one be called happy till his death.
To which I add, -- Let no oill his death
Be called unhappy. Measure not the work
Until the day s out and the labour done,
Then bring yauges. If the days work s st,
Why, call it st ; affepromise ;
And, in that we have nobly striven at least,
Deal with us nobly, women though we be.
And honour us with truth if not with praise.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Autumn, The
Autumn, The
Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Whe.99lib.re waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them --
The summer flowers depart --
Sit still -- as all transformd to stone,
Except your musi.
How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beh the freshening wind.
Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
Fo九九藏书r every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.
Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We ot bear its visitings,
When ge is on the heart.
Gay words as may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!
The dearest hands that clasp our hands, --
Their presence may be oer;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may e no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Whice refreshd our mind,
Shall e -- as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.
Hear not the九九藏书 wind -- view not the woods;
Look out oer vale and hill-
In spring, the sky encircled them --
The sky is round them still.
e autumns scathe -- e winters cold --
e ge -- and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
eer be desolate.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Best Thing in the World, The
藏书网
Whats the best thing in the world?
June-rose, by May-dew impearled;藏书网
Sweet south-wind, that means no rain;
Truth, not cruel to a friend;
Pleasure, not in haste to９９ｌib? end;
Beauty, not self-decked and curled
Till its pride is over-plain;
Love, when, so, youre loved again.
Whats the bes藏书网t thing in the world?
--Something out of it, I think.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Bianca Among The Nightingales
Bianca Among The Nightingales
The cypress stood up like a church
That night we felt our love would hold,
And saintly moonlight seemed to search
And wash the whole world as gold;
The olives crystallized the vales
Broad slopes until the hills grew strong:
The fireflies and the nightingales
Throbbed each to either, flame and song.
The nightihe nightingales.
Upon the angle of its shade
The cypress stood, self-balanced high;
Half up, half down, as double-made,
Along the ground, against the sky.
Aoo! from such soul-height went
Such leaps of blood, so blindly driven,
We scarew if our nature meant
Most passionate earth or intense heaven.
The nightihe nightingales.
We paled with love, we shook with love,
We kissed so close we could not vow;
Till Giulio whispered, Sweet, above
Gods Ever guarahis Now.
And through his words the nightingales
Drove straight and full their long clear call,
Like arrows through heroic mails,
And love was awful in it all.
The nightihe nightingales.
O cold white moonlight of the north,
Refresh these pulses, quench this hell!
O coverture of death drawn forth
Across this garden-chamber... well!
But what have nightio do
In gloomy England, called the free.
(Yes, free to die in!...) whewo
Are sundered, singing still to me?
And still they sing, the nightingales.
I think I hear him, how he cried
My own souls life between their notes.
Each man has but one soul supplied,
And thats immortal. Though his throats
On fire with passion now, to her
He t say what to me he said!
A he moves her, they aver.
The nightingales sing through my head.
The nightihe nightingales.
He says to her what moves her most.
He would not name his soul within
Her hearing,—rather pays her cost
With praises to her lips and .
Man has but one soul, tis ordained,
And each soul but one love, I add;
Yet souls are damned and loves profaned.
These nightingales will sing me mad!
The nightihe nightingales.
I marvel how the birds sing.
Theres little difference, in their view,
Betwixt our Tus trees that spring
As vital flames into the blue,
And dull round blots of foliage meant
Like saturated sponges here
To suck the fogs up. As tent
Is he too in this land, tis clear.
And still they sing, the nightingales.
My native Florence! dear, fone!
I see across the Alpine ridge
How the last feast-day of Saint John
Shot rockets from Carraia bridge.
The luminous city, tall with fire,
Trod deep down in that river of ours,
While many a boat with lamp and choir
Skimmed birdlike littering towers.
I will not hear these nightingales.
I seem to float, we seem to float
Down Arnos stream iive guise;
A boat strikes flame into our boat,
And up that lady seems to rise
As then she rose. The shock had flashed
A vision on us! What a head,
What leaping eyeballs!—beauty dashed
To splendour by a sudden dread.
And still they sing, the nightingales.
Too bold to sin, too weak to die;
Suen are so. As for me,
I would we had drowhere, he and I,
That moment, loving perfectly.
He had not caught her with her loosed
Glets... rarer in the south...
Nor heard the Grazie tanto bruised
To sweetness by her English mouth.
And still they sing, the nightingales.
She had not reached him at my heart
With her fiongue, as snakes indeed
Kill flies; nor had I, for my part,
Yearned after, in my desperate need,
And followed him as he did her
To coasts left bitter by the tide,
Whose very nightingales, elsewhere
Delighting, torture and deride!
For still they sing, the nightingales.
A worthless woman! mere cold clay
As all false things are! but so fair,
She takes the breath of men away
Who gaze upon her unaware.
I would not play her larous tricks
To have her looks! She lied and stole,
And spat into99lib? my loves pure pyx
The rank saliva of her soul.
And still they sing, the nightingales.
I would not for her white and pink,
Though such he likes—her grace of limb,
Though such he has praised—nor yet, I think,
For life itself, though spent with him,
it such sacrilege, affront
Gods nature which is love, intrude
Twixt two affianced souls, and hunt
Like spiders, iars wood.
I ot bear these nightingales.
If she chose sin, some gentler guise
She might have sinned in, so it seems:
She might have pricked out both my eyes,
And I still seen him in my dreams!
- ed9９ｌib. me in my soup or wine,
Nor left me angry afterward:
To die here with his hand in mine
His breath upon me, were not hard.
(Our Lady hush these nightingales!)
But set a springe for him, mio ben,
My only good, my first last love!—
Though Christ knows well what sin is, when
He sees some things dohey must move
Himself to wonder. Let her pass.
I think of her by night and day.
Must I too join her... out, alas!...
With Giulio, in each word I say!
And evermore the nightingales!
Giulio, my Giulio!—sing they so,
And you be silent? Do I speak,
And you not hear? An arm you throw
Round some one, and I feel so weak?
- Oh, owl-like birds! They sing for spite,
They sing for hate, they sing for doom!
Theyll sing through death who sing through night,
Theyll sing and stun me iomb—
The nightihe nightingales!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Change Upon Change
ge Upon ge
Five months ago the stream did flow,
The lilies bloomed within the sedge,
And we were lingering to and fro,
Where none will track thee in this snow,
Along the stream, beside the hedge.
Ah, Sweet, be free to love and go!
For if I do not hear thy foot,
The frozen river is as mute,
The flowers have dried down to the root:
And why, sihese be ged since May,
Shouldst thou ge less than they.
And slow, slow as the winter snow
The tears have drifted to mine eyes;
And my poor cheeks, five months ago
Set blushing at thy praises so,
Put paleness on for a disguise.
Ah, Sweet, be free to praise and go!
For if my face is turoo pale,
It was thih that first did fail, --
It was thy love proved false and frail, --
And why, sihese be ged enow,
Should I ge less than thou.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.99lib.
Cheerfulness Taught By Reason
Cheerfulaught By Reason
I THINK we are too ready with plaint
In this fair world of Gods. Had we no hope
Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope
Of yon gray blank of sky, we might grow faint
To muse upoys straint
Round our aspirant souls; but sihe scope
Must widen early, is it well to droop,
For a few days ed in loss and taint ?
O pusillanimous Hear藏书网t, be forted
And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road
Sing９9ｌｉｂ?ing beside the hedge. What if the bread
Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod
To meet the flints ? At least it may be said
Because the way is short, I thank thee, God.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Chorus of Eden Spirits
Chorus of Eden Spirits
HEARKEN, oh hearke your souls behind you
Turly moved!
Our voices feel along the Dread to find you,
O lost, beloved!
Through the thick-shielded and strong-marshalled angels,
They press and pierce:
Our requiems follow fast on our evangels,—
Voice throbs in verse.
We are but orphaned spirits left in Eden
A time ago:
God gave us g.99lib.olden cups, and we were bidden
To feed you so.
But now ht hand hath no cup remaining,
No work to do,
The mystic hydromel is spilt, and staining
The whole earth through.
M99lib.ost ineradicable stains, for showing
(Not interfused!)
That brighter colours were the world’s foin藏书网g,
Than shall be used.
Hearken, oh hearken! ye shall hearken surely
For years and years,
The noise beside you, dripping coldly, purely,
Of spirits’ te9９ｌib?ars.
The yearning to a beautiful denied you,
Shall strain your powers.
Ideal sweetnesses shall lide you,
Resumed from ours.
In all your music, our pathetior
Your ears shall cross;
And all good gifts shall mind you of diviner,
With sense of loss.
We shall be near you in your poet-languors
And wild extremes,
What time ye vex the desert with vain angers,
Or mock with dreams.
And when up.9９lib.on you, weary after roaming,
Death’s seal is put,
By the fone ye shall dis the ing,
Through eyelids shut.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Comfort
fort
SPEAK low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low
Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so
Who art not missed by any that e.
Speak to mo as to Mary at thy feet !
And if no precious gums my hands bestow,
Let my tears drop like amber while I go
In reach of thy divi voiplete
In huma affe -- thus, in sooth,
To lose the sense of losing. As a child,
Whose song-bird?９9lib? seeks the wood for evermore
Is sung to in its stead by mothers mouth
Till, sinking on her breast, love-reco九九藏书nciled,
He sleeps the faster that he wept before.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Consolation
solation.9９ｌib?
All are not taken; there are left behind
Livi.９９lｉb.ng Belovèds, tender looks t
And make the daylight still a happy thing,
And tender voices, to make soft the wind:
But if it were not so—if I could find
No lov.99lib.e in all this world for f,
Nor any path but hollowly did ring
Where dust to dust the love from life disjoind;
And if, before thos藏书网e sepulchres unmoving
I stood alone (as some forsaken lamb
Goes bleating up the moors in weary dearth)
g Where are ye, O my loved and loving?—
I know a voice would sound, Daughter, I AM.
I suffice for Heaven and not for earth?
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Cry Of The Children, The
Cry Of The Children, The
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow es with years?
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers---
And that ot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows;
The young birds are chirping in the ;
The young falaying with the shadows;
The young flowers are blowing toward the west---
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly!---
They are weeping in the playtime of the others
In the try of the free.
Do you question the young children in the sorrow,
Why their tears are falling so?---
The old man may weep for his to-morrow
Which is lost in Long Ago---
The old tree is leafless in the forest---
The old year is ending in the frost---
The old wound, if stri, is the sorest---
The old hope is hardest to be lost:
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
Do you ask them why they stand
Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers,
In our happy Fatherland?
They look up with their pale and sunken faces,
And their looks are sad to see,
For the mans grief abhorrent, draresses
Down the cheeks of infancy---
"Your old earth," they say, "is very dreary;"
"Our you," they say, "are very weak!
Few paces have we take are weary?
rave-rest is very far to seek.
Ask the old why they weep, and not the children,
For the outside earth is cold,---
And we young oand without, in our bewildering,
And the graves are for the old.
"True," say the young children, "it may happen
That we die before our time.
Little Alice died last year---the grave is shapen
Like a snowball, in the rime.
We looked into the pit prepared to take her---
Was no room for any work in the close clay:
From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her
g, Get up, little Alice! it is day.
If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower,
With your ear down, little Aliever cries!---
Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her,
For the smile has time frowing in her eyes---
And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in
The shroud, by the kirk-chime!
It is good when it happens," say the children,
"That we die before our time."
Alas, alas, the children! they are seeking
Death in life, as best to have!
They are binding up their hearts away from breaking,
With a cerement from the grave.
Go out, children, from the mine and from the city---
Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do---
Pluck your handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty---
Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through!
But they answer, "Are your cowslips of the meadows
Like our weeds ahe mine?
Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows,
From your pleasures fair and fine!
"For oh," say the children.99lib., "we are weary,
And we ot run or leap---
If we cared for any meadows, it were merely
To drop down in them and sleep.
Our kremble sorely iooping---
We fall upon our faces, trying to go;
And, underh our heavy eyelids drooping,
The reddest flower would look as pale as snow.
For, all day, we drag our burden tiring,
Through the coal-dark, underground---
Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron
In the factories, round and round.
"For, all day, the wheels are droning, turning,---
Their wind es in our faces,---
Till our hearts turn,---our head, with pulses burning,
And the walls turn in thei9９ｌｉb.r places---
Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling---
Turns the long light that droppeth down the wall---
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling---
All are turning, all the day, ah all.---
And, all day, the iron wheels are droning;
And sometimes we could pray,
O ye wheels, (breaking out in a mad moaning)
Stop! be silent for to-day! "
Ay! be silent! Let them hear each other breathing
For a moment, mouth to mouth---
Let them touch each others hands, in a fresh wreathing
Of their tender human youth!
Let them feel that this etallic motion
Is not all the life God fashions or reveals---
Let them prove their inward souls against the notion
That they live in you, os under you, O wheels!---
Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward,
Grinding life down from its mark;
And the childrens souls, which God is calling sunward,
Spin on blindly in the dark.
Now, tell the poor young children, O my brothers,
To look up to Him and pray---
So the blessed One, who blesseth all the others,
Will bless them another day.
They answer, "Who is God that He should hear us,
White the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred?
When we sob aloud, the humaures near us
Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word!
And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding)
Strangers speaking at the door:
Is it likely God, with angels singing round Him,
Hears our weeping any more?
"Two words, indeed, of praying we remember,
And at midnights hour of harm,---
Our Father, looking upward in the chamber,
We say softly for a charm.
We know no other words except Our Father,
Ahink that, in some pause of angels song,
God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather,
And hold both within His right hand which is strong.
Our Father! If He heard us, He would surely
(For they call Him good and mild)
Answer, smiling doweep world very purely,
e a with me, my child.
"But no!" say the children, weeping faster,
"He is speechless as a stone;
And they tell us, of His image is the master
Who ands us to work on.
Go to!" say the children,---"Up in Heaven,
Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find.
Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving---
We look up fod, but tears have made us blind."
Do you hear the children weeping and disproving,
O my brothers, what ye preach?
Fods possible is taught by His worlds loving---
And the children doubt of each.
And well may the children weep before you;
They are weary ere they run;
They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory
Which is brighter than the sun:
They know the grief of man, but not the wisdom;
They sink in mans despair, without its calm---
Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom,---
Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm,---
Are worn, as if with age, yet urievingly
No dear remembrance keep,---
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly:
Let them weep! let them weep!
They look up, with their pale and sunken faces,
And their look is dread to see,
For they mind you of their angels in their.99ｌiｂ? places,
With eyes meant for Deity;---
"How long," they say, "how long, O cruel nation,
Will you stand, to move the world, on a childs heart,
Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation,
And tread onward to your throne amid the mart?
Our blood splashes upward, O our tyrants,
And your purple shows yo}r path;
But the childs sob curseth deeper in the silence
Tharong man in his wrath!"
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
De Profundis
De ProfundisI
The face, which, duly as the sun,
Rose up for me with life begun,
To mark all bright hours of the day
With hourly love, is dimmed away—
A my days go on, go on.
II
The tongue which, like a stream, could run
Smooth musi the roughest stone,
And every m with Good day
Make each day good, is hushed away,
A my days go on, go on.
III
The heart which, like a staff, was one
For mio lean a upon,
The stro on the lo day
With s?９9ｌｉb?teadfast love, is caught away,
A my days go on, go on.
IV
And cold before my summers done,
And deaf in Natures general tune,
And fallen too low for special fear,
And here, with hope no longer here,
While the tears drop, my days go on.
V
The woes whispering to its own,
‘This anguish pierces to the bone;’
And tender friends go sighing round,
‘What love ever cure this wound ?
My days go on, my days go on.
VI
The past rolls forward on the sun
And makes all night. O dreams begun,
Not to be ended! Ended bliss,
And life that will not end in this!
My days go on, my days go on.
VII
Breath freezes on my lips to moan:
As one alone, o alone,
I sit and knock at Natures door,
Heart-bare, heart-hungry, very poor,
Whose desolated days go on.
VIII
I knod cry, —Undone, undone!
Is there no help, no fort, —none?
No gleaning in the wide lains
Where others drive their loaded wains?
My vat days go on, go on.
IX
This Nature, though the snows be down,
Thinks kindly of the bird of June:
The little red hip oree
Is ripe for such. What is for me,
Whose days so winterly go on?
X
No bird am I, to sing in June,
And dare not ask an equal boon.
Good s and berries red are Natures
To give away to better creatures, —
A my days go on, go on.
XI
I ask less kio be done, —
Only to loose these pilgrim shoon,
(Too early worn and grimed) with sweet
Cool deadly touch to these tired feet.
Till days go out whiow go on.
XII
Only to lift the turf unmown
From off the earth where it has grown,
Some cubit-space, and say ‘Behold,
Creep in, poor Heart, beh that fold,
Fetting how the days go on.’
XIII
What harm would that do? Green anon
The sward would qui, overshone
By skies as blue; and crickets might
Have leave to chirp there day and night
While my new rest went o on.
XIV
From gracious Nature have I won
Such liberal bounty? may I run
So, lizard-like, within her side,
And there be safe, who now am tried
By days 藏书网that painfully go on?
XV
—A Voice reproves me thereupon,
More sweet than Natures when the drone
Of bees is sweetest, and more deep
Thahe rivers overleap
The shuddering pines, and thunder on.
XVI
Gods Voiot Natures! Night and noon
He sits upon the great white throne
And listens for the creatures praise.
What babble we of days and days?
The Day-spring He, whose days go on.
XVII
He reigns above, He reigns alone;
Systems burn out and have his throne;
Fair mists of seraphs melt and fall
Around Him, geless amid all,
A of Days, whose days go on.
XVIII
He reigns below, He reigns alone,
And, having life in love fone
Beh the of sovran thorns,
He reigns the Jealous God. Who mourns
Or rules with Him, while days go on?
XIX
By anguish which made pale the sun,
I hear Him charge his saints that none
Among his creatures anywhere
Blaspheme against Him with despair,
However darkly days go on.
XX
Take from my head the thorh brown!
No mortal grief deserves that .
O supreme Love, chief misery,
The sharp regalia are for Thee
Whose days eternally go on!
XXI
For us, —whatevers undergone,
Thou k, willest what is done,
Grief may be joy misuood;
Only the Good diss the good.
I trust Thee while my days go on.
XXII
Whatevers lost, it first was won;
We will not strugg99lib.le nor impugn.
Perhaps the cup was broken here,
That Heavens new wine might show more clear.
I praise Thee while my days go on.
XXIII
I praise Thee while my days go on;
I love Thee while my days go on:
Through dark ah, through fire and frost,
With emptied arms and treasure lost,
I thank Thee while my days go on.
XXIV
And having in thy life-depth thrown
Being and suffering (which are one),
As a child drops his pebble small
Down some deep well, and hears it fall
Smiling—so I. THY DAYS GO ON.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Deserted Garden, The
I mind me in the days departed,
How often underh the sun
With childish bounds I used to run
To a garden loed.
The beds and walks were vanished quite;
And wheresoeer had struck the spade,
The gree grasses Nature laid
To sanctify her right.
I called the place my wilderness,
For no oered there but I;
The sheep looked in, the gra９９lib?ss to espy,
And passed it heless.
The trees were interwoven wild,
And spread their boughs enough about
To keep both sheep and shepherd out,
But not a happy child.
Adventurous joy it was for me!
I crept beh the boughs, and found
A circle smooth of mossy ground
Beh a poplar tree.
Old garden rose-trees hedged it in,
Bedropt with roses waxen-white
Well satisfied with dew and light
And careless to be seen.
Long years ago it might befall,
When all the garden f藏书网lowers were trim,
The grave old gardener prided him
Ohe most of all.
Some lady, stately overmuch,
Here moving with a silken noise,
Has blushed beside them at the voice
That likened her to such.
And these, to make a diadem,
She often may have plucked and twined,
Half-smiling as it came to mind
That few would look at them.
Oh, little thought that lady proud,
A child would watch her fair white rose,
When buried lay her whiter brows,
And silk was ged for shroud!
Nor thought that gardener, (full of ss
For men unlearned and simple phrase,)
A child would bring it all its praise
By creeping through the thorns!
To me upon my low moss seat,
Though never a dream the roses sent
Of sce or loves pliment,
I ween they smelt as sweet.
It did not move my grief to see
The trace of human step departed:
Because the garden was deserted,
The blither plae!
Friends, blame me not! a narrow ken
Has childhood twixt the sun and sward;
We draw the moral afterward,
We feel the gladhen.
And gladdest hours for me did glide
In sile the rose-tree wall:
A thrush made gladness musical
Upoher side.
Nor he nor I did eer ine
To peck or pluck the blossoms white;
How should I know but roses might
Lead lives as glad as mine?
To make my hermit-home plete,
I brought dear water from the spring
Praised in its own low murmuring,
And cresses glossy wet.
And so, I thought, my likeness grew
(Without the melancholy tale)
To "Gentle Hermit of the Dale,"
And Angelina too.
For oft I read within my nook
Such miories; till the breeze
Made sounds poeti the trees,
And then I shut the book.
If I shut this wherein I write
I hear no more the wind athwart
Those trees, nor feel that childish heart
Delighting in delight.
My childhood from my life is parted,
My footstep from the moss which drew
Its fairy circle round: anew
The garden is deserted.
Ahrush may there rehearse
The madrigals which sweetest are;
No more for me! myself afar
Do sing a sadder verse.
Ah me, ah me! whe I lay
In that childs- so greenly wrought,
I laughed unto myself and thought
"The time will pass away."
And still I laughed, and did not fear
But that, wheneer ast away
The childish time, some happier play
My womanhood would cheer.
I khe time would pass away,
A, beside the rose-tree wall,
Dear God, how seldom, if at all,
Did I look up to pray!
The time is past; and now that grows
The cypress high among the trees,
And I behold white sepulchres
As well as the white rose, --
When graver, meeker thoughts are given,
And I have learnt to lift my face,
Reminded how earths gree place
The color draws from heaven, --
It something saith for earthly pain,
But more for Heavenly promise free,
That I who was, would shrink to be
That happy child again.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Discontent
Distent99lib?
LIGHT human nature is too lightly tost
And ruffled without cause, plaining on--
Restless with rest, until, being overthrown,
It learo lie quiet. Let a frost
Or a small have crept to the inner-most
Of our ripe peach, or let the wilful sun
Shiward of our window,--straight we run
A furlongs sigh as if the world were lost.
But what time through the heart and through the brain
God hath transfixed us,--we, so mo9９lｉb.ved before,
Attain to a calm. Ay, shou９９lｉb?lderis of pain,
We anchor in deep waters, safe from shore,
And hear submissive oer the stormy main
Gods chartered judgments walk for evermore.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning藏书网
Exaggeration
Exaggeration
WE overstate the ills of life, and take
Imagination (given us t down
The choirs of singing angels overshone
By Gods clear glory) down ou.9９ｌib?r earth to rake
The dismal snows instead, flake following flake,
To cover all the ; we walk upon
The shadow of hills across a level thrown,
And pant like climbers: he alder brake
We sigh so loud, the nightihin
Refuses to sing loud, as else she w藏书网ould.
O brothers, let us leave the shame and sin
Of taking va９９ｌｉb.inly, in a plaintive mood,
The holy name of GRIEF !--holy herein
That by the grief of ONE came藏书网 all ood.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning九九藏书
From ‘The Soul’s Travelling’
From ‘The Soul’s Travelling’藏书网
God, God!
With a child’s voice I cry,
Weak, sad, fidingly—
God, God!
Thou k, eyelids, raised not always up
Unto Thy love (as none of ours are), droop
As ours, o’er many a tear!
Thou k, though Thy universe is broad,
Two little tears suffice to cover all:
Thou k, Thou, who art sal
Of beauty, we are oft but stri deer
Expiring in the woods—that care for none
Of those delightsome flowers they die upon.
O blissful Mouth which藏书网 breathed the mournful breath
We name our souls, self-spoilt!—by that strong passion
Which paled Thee oh sighs,—by that stroh
Which made Thee on.99lib.ard,
Where the lark finds her deep in the grass
Cold with the earth’s last dew. Yea, very vain
The greatest speed of all these souls of men
Uhey travel upward to the throne
Where sittest THOU, the satisfying ONE,
With help for sins and holy perfegs
For all requirements—while the argel, raising
Unto Thy face his full ecstatic gazing,
Fets the rush and rapture of his wings.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Futurity
Futurity
AND, O beloved voices, upon which
Ours passionately call because erelong
Ye brake off in the middle of that song
We sang together sof九九藏书tly, to enrich
The poor world with the sense of love,.９９lｉb. and witch,
The heart out of things evil,--I am strong,
Knowing ye are not lost for aye among
The hills, with last years thrush. God keeps a niche
In Heaven to hold our idols; and albeit.99lib.
He brake them to our faces and denied
That our close kisses should impair their white,
I know we shall behold them raised, plete,
The dust swept from their beauty,--glorified
New Memnons singing in the great God-light.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Grief
Grief
I 藏书网TELL you, hopeless grief is passionless;
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
Beat upward to Gods throne in lou.99lib.d access
Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness,
In souls as tries, lieth silent-bare
Uhe blang, vertical eye-glare
Of the absolute Heavens. Deep-hearted man, express
Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death--
Most like a moal statue set
In everlasting watd moveless woe
Till itself crumble to the dust beh.
Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet:
If it could weep, it could arise and go.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
House Of Clouds, The
House Of Clouds, The
I would build a cloudy House
For my thoughts to live in;
Whe?99lib.n for earth too fancy-loose
And too low for Heaven!
Hush! I talk my dream aloud---
I build it bright to see,---
I build it on the moonlit cloud,
To which I looked with thee.
Cloud-walls of the ms grey,
Faced with amber n,---
ed with crimson cupola
From a su solemn!
May mists, for the casements, fetch,
Pale and glimmering;
With a sunbeam hid in each,
And a smell of spring.
Build the entrance high and proud,
Darkening and then brightening,---
If a riven thunder-cloud,
Veined by the lightning.
Use oh an iris-stain,
For the door within;
Turning to a sound like rain,
As I enter in.
Build a spacious hall thereby:
Boldly, never fearing.
Use the blue place of the sky,
Which the wind is clearing;
Branched with corridors sublime,
Flecked with winding stairs---
Such as children wish to climb,
Following their own prayers.
Iest of the house,
I will have my chamber:
Sile the door shall use
Evenings light of amber,
Solemnising every mood,
Softemng in degree,---
Turning sadness into good,
As I turn the key.
Be my chamber tapestried
With the showers of summer,
Close, but soundless,---glorified
When the sunbeams e here;
Wandering harpers, harping on
Waters stringed for such,---
Drawing colours, for a tune,
With a vibrant touch.
Bring a shadow green and still
From the chestnut forest,
Bring a purple from the hill,
When the heat is sorest;
Spread them out from wall to wall,
Carpet-wove around,---
Whereupon the foot shall fall
In light instead of sound.
Bring the fantasque cloudlets home
From the noontide zenith
Ranged, for sculptures, round the room,---
Named as Fancy weeh:
Some be Junos, without eyes;
Naiads, without sources
Some be birds of paradise,---
Some, Olympian horses.
Bring the dews the birds shake off,
Waking in the hedges,---
Those too, perfumed for a proof,
From the lilies edges:
From lands field and moor,
Bring them calm and white in;
Wheo form a mirror pure,
For Loves self-delighting.
Bring a grey cloud fro99lib?t>m the east,
Where the lark is singing;
Something of the song at least,
Unlost in the bringing:
That shall be a m chair,
Poet-dream may sit in,
When it leans out on the air,
Unrhymed and unwritten.
Bring the red cloud from the sun
While he sih, catch it.
That shall be a couch,---with one
Sidelong star to watch it,---
Fit for poets fihought,
At the curfew-sounding,--- ;
Things unseen being nearer brought
Than the seen, around him.
Poets thought,----not poets sigh!
Las, they e together!
Cloudy walls divide and fly,
As in April weather!
Cupola and n proud,
Structure bright to see---
Gone---except that moonlit cloud,
To which I looked with thee!
Let them! Wipe such visionings
From the Fancys cartel---
?９9ｌiｂ.Love secures some fairer things
Dowered with his immortal.
The sun may darken,---heaven be bowed---
But still, unged shall be,---
Here in my soul,---that moonlit clo藏书网ud,
To which I looked with THEE!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How Do I Love Thee?
How Do I Love Thee?
How do I .9９ｌib.love thee? Let me t the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth a
My soul reach, when feeling o藏书网ut of sight
For the en.９９ｌib?ds of Being and ideal Grace.
I ９９ｌiｂ?love thee to the level of every days
Most quiet need, by sun and dlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive fht;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhoods faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, -- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Human Life’s Mystery
Human Life’s Mystery
We sow the glebe, we reap the ,
We build the house where we may rest,
And then, at moments, suddenly,
We look up to the great wide sky,
Inquiring wherefore we were born…
For ear or for jest?
The senses folding thid dark
About the stifled soul within,
We guess divihings beyond,
And yearn to them with yearning fond;
We strike out blindly to a mark
Believed in, but not seen.
We vibrate to the pant and thrill
Wherewith Ete99lib.rnity has curled
In serpent-twine about God’s seat;
While, freshening upward to His feet,
In gradual growth His full-leaved will
Expands from world to world.
And, iumult and excess
Of ad passion under sun,
We sometimes hear—oh, soft and far,
As silver star did touch with star,
The kiss of Pead Righteousness
Through all things that are done.
God keeps His holy mysteries
Just oside of man’s dream;
In diapason slow, we think
To hear their pinions rise and sink,
While they float pure beh His eyes,
Like swans adown a stream.
Abstras, are they, from the forms
Of His great beauty?—exaltations
From His great glory?—strong previsions
Of what we shall be?—intuitions
Of what we are—in calms and storms,
Beyond our pead passions?
Things nameless! which, in passing so,
Do stroke us with a subtle grace.
We say, ‘Who passes?’—they are dumb.
We ot see them go or e:
Their touches fall soft, cold, as snow
Upon a blind man’s face.
Yet, toug so, they draw above
Our藏书网 on thoughts to Heaven’s unknown,
Our dai99lib?ly joy and pain advance
To a divine significe,
Our human love—O mortal love,
That light is not its own!
And sometimes horror chills our blood
To be so near such mystic Things,
And we round us for defe.
And sometimes through life’s heavy swound
We grope for them!—with strangled breath
We stretch our hands abroad and try
To reach them in ony,—
And widen, so, the broad life-wound
Which soon is large enough for death.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I
I
I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who eae in a gracious .９9liｂ.t>d appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow ae. Straightway I was ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair:
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,--
Guess now who holds thee ? -- Death, I said. But, there,
The silver answer rang,-- Not Death, but Love.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
II
But only three in all Gods universe
Have heard this word thou hast said,--Himself, beside
Thee speaking, and me listening ! and replied
One of us . . . that was God, . . . and laid the curse
So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce
My sight from seeing thee,--that if I had died,
The deathweights, placed there, would have signified
Less absolute exclusion. Nay is worse
From God than from all others, O my friend !
Men could not part us with their worldly jars,
Nor the seas ge us, nor the tem99lib?pests bend;
Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:
And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,
We should but vow the faster for the stars.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
III
Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart !
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
Our ministering two angels look surprise
On one another, as they strike athwart
Their wings in pas?99lｉb.sing. Thou, bethink thee, art
A guest for queens to social pageantries,
With gages from a hundred brighter eyes
Than tears even make mio play thy part
Of chief musi. What hast thou to do
With looking from the lattice-lights at me,
A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through
The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree ?
The chrism is on thine head,--on mihe dew,--
Ah must dig the level where these agree.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Insufficiency
Insufficy
When I attain to utter forth in verse
Some inward thought, my soul throbs audibly
Along my pulses, yearning to be free
And something farther, fuller, higher, rehearse
To the individual, true, and the universe,
In mation ht harmony:
But, like a wind-exposed distorted tree,
We are blown against for ever by the curse
Which breathes through Nature. Oh, the world is weak !
The effluence of each is false to all,
And what we best ceive w.99lib.t>e fail to speak.
Wai?９9lｉb?t, soul, until thine ashen garments fall,
And then resume thy broken strains, and seek
Fit peroration without let or thrall.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Irreparableness
Irreparableness99lib?
I HAVE been in the meadows all the day
And gathered there the nosegay t藏书网hat you see
Singing within myself as bird or bee
When such do field-work on a morn of May.
But, now I look upon my flowers, decay
Has met them in my han99lib.ds more fatally
Because more warmly clasped,--and sobs are free
To e iails>九九藏书stead of songs. What do you say,
Sweet sellors, dear friends ? that I should go
Back straightway to the fields and gather more ?
Another, sooth, may do it, but not I !
My heart is very tired, my strength is low,
My hands are full of blossoms plucked before,
Held dead withiill myself shall die.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
IV
IV
Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems ! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watg up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou lift this houses latch t99lib?oo poor
For hand of thine ? and 九九藏书st thou think and bear
To let thy music drop here unaware
In folds藏书网 of golden fulness at my door ?
Look up ahe casement broken in,
The bats and owlets builders in the roof !
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof
Of desolation ! there s a voice wit.99lib.hin
That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof
Elizabeth Barrett Browning９９lｉｂ.
IX
IX
it be right to give what I give ?
To let thee si.99lib.t beh the fall of tears
As salt as mine, ahe sighing years
Re-sighing on my lips renunciative
Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live
For all thy adjurations ? O my fears,
That this scarce be right ! We are not peers,
So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,
That givers of such gifts a九九藏书s mine are, must
Be ted with the ungenerous. Out, alas !
I will not soil thy purple with my dust,
Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass,
Nive thee any love--which were unjust.
B九九藏书eloved, I only love thee ! let it pass.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Ladys Yes, The
Ladys Yes, The
"Yes," I answered you last night;
"九九藏书No," this m, Sir, I say.
Colours seen by dlelight,
Will not look the same by day.
When the viols played their best,
Lamps above, and laughs below---
Love me sounded like a jest,
Fit for Yes or fit for No.
Call me false, or c99lib?all me free---
Vow, whatever light may shi.99lib.ne,
No man on your face shall see
Any grief for ge on mine.
Yet the sin is on us both---
Time to dance is not to woo---
Wht makes fickle troth---
S of me recoils on you.
Learn to win a ladys faith
Nobly, as the thing is high;
Bravely, as for life ah-.9９lｉｂ?--
With a loyal gravity.
Lead her from the festive boards,
Poio the starry skies,
Guard her, by your truthful words,
Pure from courtships flatteries.
By your truth she shall be true---
Ever true, as wives of yore---
And her Yes, once said to you,
SHALL be Yes for evermore.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning99lib.t>
Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, The
Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, The
The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods, against a99lib. stormy sky,
Their giant braost;
And the heavy night hung dark
The hills and water oer,
When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.
Not as the queror es,
They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;
Not as the flying e,
In silend in fear, -
They shook the depths of the deserts gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim wo
To the anthem of the free.
The o-eagle soared
From his by the white waves foam,
And the rog pines of the forest roared -
This was their wele home!
There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band:
Why had they e to wither there,
Away from their childhoods land?
There was womans fearless eye,
Lit by her deep loves truth;
There was?9９ｌｉb. manhoods brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.
What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of?9９liｂ. the mine?
The wealth of the seas? the spoils of war? -
They sought a faiths pure shrine!
Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil wh藏书网ere first they trod!
They have left unstained what there they found -
Freedom to worship God!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Look, The
Look, The
The Saviour looked oer. Ay, no word,
ure of reproach; th.９9ｌｉｂ?e Heavens serene
Though heavy with armed justice, did not lean
Their thuhat .99lib.way: the forsaken Lord
Looked only, 藏书网oraitor. None record
What that look was, none guess; for those who have seen
Wronged lovers loving through a death-pang keen,
Or pale-cheeked martyrs smiling to a sword,
Have missed Jehovah at the judgment-call.
Aer, from the height of blasphemy--
I never khis man --did quail and fall
As knowing straight THAT GOD; and turned free
A out speechless from the face of all
And filled the silen.９9ｌｉｂ?c, weeping bitterly.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Lord Walters Wife
Lord Walters Wife
I
But where do you go? said the lady, while both sat uhe yew,
And her eyes were alive in their depth, as the krakeh the sea-blue.
II
Because I fear you, he answered;--because you are far too fair,
And able tle my soul in a mesh of yolfd-coloured hair.
III
Oh that, she said, is no reason! Suots are quickly undone,
And too much beauty, I re, is nothing but too much sun.
IV
Yet farewell so, he answered; --the sunstrokes fatal at times.
I value your husband, Lord Walter, whose galls still from the limes.
V
Oh that, she said, is no reason. You smell a rose through a fence:
If two should smell it九九藏书 what matter? who grumbles, and wheres the pretense?
VI
But I, he replied, have promised another, when love was free,
To love her alone, alone, who alone from afar loves me.
VII
Why, that, she said, is no reason. Loves always free I am told.
Will you vow to be safe from the headache on Tuesday, and think it will hold?
VIII
But you, he replied, have a daughter, a young child, who was laid
In your lap to be pure; so I leave you: the angels would make me afraid."
IX
Oh that, she said, is no reason. The angels keep out of the way;
And Dora, the child, observes nothing, although you should please me and stay.
X
At which he rose up in his anger,--Why now, you no longer are fair!
Why, now, you no longer are fatal, but ugly and hateful, I swear.
XI
At which she laughed out in her s: These men! Oh these men overnice,
Who are shocked if a colour not virtuous is frankly put on by a vice.
XII
Her eyes blazed upon him--And you! Y us your vices so near
That we smell them! You think in our presehought twould defame us to hear!
XIII
What reason had you, and what right,--I appel to your soul from my life,--
To find me so fair as a woman? Why, sir, I am pure, and a wife.
XIV
Is the day-star too fair up above you? It burns you not. Dare you imply
I brushed you more close thaar does, when Walter had set me as high?
XV
If a man finds a woman too fair, he means simply adapted too much
To use unlawful and fatal. The praise! --shall I thank you for such?
XVI
Too fair?--not unless you misuse us! and surely if, on a whil藏书网e,
You attain to it, straightaway you call us no looo fair, but too vile.
XVII
A moment,--I pray your attention!--I have a poor word in my head
I must utter, though womanly would set it dower unsaid.
XVIII
You grew, sir, pale to impertinence, once when I showed you a ring.
You kissed my fan when I dropped it. No matter! Ive brokehing.
XIX
You did me the honour, perhaps, to be moved at my side now and then
In the senses--a vice, I have 99ｌib?heard, which is on to beasts and some men.
XX
Loves a virtue for heroes!--as white as the snow on high hills,
And immortal as every great soul is that struggles, endures, and fulfils.
XXI
I love my Walter profoundly,--you, Maude, though you faltered a week,
For the sake of . . . what is it--an eyebrow? or, less still, a mole on the cheek?
XXII
And since, when alls said, youre too o stoop to the frivolous t
About crimes irresistable, virtues that swindle, betray and supplant.
XXIII
I determio prove to yourself that, whateer you might dream or avow
By illusion, you wanted precisely no more of me than you have now.
XXIV
There! Look me full in the face!--in the face. Uand, if you ,
That the eyes of suen as I am are as the palm of a man.
XXV
Drop his hand, you insult him. Avoid us for fear we should cost you a scar--
You take us for harlots, I tell you, and not for the women we are.
XXVI
Yed me: but then I sidered . . . theres Walter! And so at the end
I vowed that he should not be mulcted, by me, in the hand of a friend.
XXVII
Have I hurt you indeed? We are quits then. Nay, friend of my Walter, be mine!
e, Dora, my darling, my angel, and help me to ask him to dine.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Meaning Of The Look, The
Meaning Of The Look, The
I think that look of Christ might seem to say--
T?9９ｌｉb.hou Peter ! art thou then a on stone
Which I at last must break my heart upon
For all G藏书网ods charge to his high angels may
Guard my foot better ? Did I yesterday
Wash thy feet, my beloved, that they should run
Quick to deny me h the m sun ?
And do thy kisses, like the rest, betray ?
The cock crows coldly.--GO, and mani?９９lｉb.fest
A late trition, but no bootless fear !
For when thy final need is dreariest,
Thou shalt not be denied, as I am here;
My voice to God and angels shall attest,
Because I KNOW this ma him be clear.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Minstrelsy
Minstrelsy
For ever, since my childish looks
Could rest on Natures pictured books;
For ever, since my childish tongue
Could he themes our bards have sung;
So long, the sweetness of their singing
Hath been to me a rapture bringing!
Yet ask me not the reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.
I know that much whereof I sing,
Is shapen but for vanishing;
I know that sum?９９lｉb?mers flower and leaf
And shine and shade are very brief,
And that the heart they brighten, may,
Before them all, be sheathed in clay! -藏书网-
I do not know the reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.
A few there are, whose smile 九九藏书and praise
My minstrel hope, would kindly raise:
But, of those few -- Death may impress
The lips of some with silentness;
While some may friendships faith resign,
And heed no more a song of mine. --
Ask not, ask not the reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.
The sweetest song that minstrels sing,
Will charm not Joy to tarrying;
The gree bay that earth grow,
Will shelter not in burning woe;
A thousand voices will not cheer,
When one is mute that aye is dear! --
Is there, alas! no reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.
I do not know! The turf is green
Beh the rains fast-dropping sheen,
Yet asks not why that deeper hue
Doth all its tender leaves renew; --
And I, like-minded, am tent,
While musiy soul is sent,
To question not the reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.
Years pass -- my life with them shall pass:
And soon, the cricket in the grass
And summer bird, shall louder sing
Than she who owns a minstrels string.
Oh then may some, the dear and few,
Recall her love, whose truth they knew;
When all fet to question why
She had delig藏书网ht in minstrelsy!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Mother and Poet
Mother and Poet
I.
Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east,
And one of them shot in the west by the sea.
Dead ! both my boys ! When you sit at the feast
And are wanting a great song for Italy free,
Let none look at me !
II.
Yet I oetess only last year,
And good at my art, for a woman, men said ;
But this woman, this, who is agonized here,
-- The east sea a sea rhyme on in her head
For ever instead.
III.
What art a woman be good at ? Oh, vain !
What art is she good at, but hurting her breast
With the milk-teeth of babes, and a smile at the pain ?
Ah boys, how you hurt ! you were strong as you pressed,
And I proud, by that test.
IV.
What arts for a woman ? To hold on her knees
Both darlings ! to feel all their arms rouhroat,
g, strangle a little ! to sew by degrees
And broider the long-clothes a little coat ;
To dream and to doat.
V.
To teach them ... It stings there ! I made them indeed
Speak plain the word try. I taught them, no doubt,
That a trys a thing men should die for at need.
I prated of liberty, rights, and about
The tyrant cast out.
VI.
And when their eyes flashed ... O my beautiful eyes ! ...
I exulted ; nay, let them go forth at the wheels
Of the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise
Whes quite alohen one weeps, then one kneels !
God, how the house feels !
VII.
At first, happy news came, in gay letters moiled
With my kisses, -- of camp-life and glory, and how
They both loved me ; and, soon ing home to be spoiled
Iurn would fan off every fly from my brow
With their green laurel-bough.
VIII.
Then was triumph at Turin : `Ana was free !
73
And some one came out of the cheers ireet,
With a face pale as stoo say something to me.
My Guido was dead ! I fell down at his feet,
While they cheered ireet.
IX.
I bore it ; friends soothed me ; my grief looked sublime
As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained
To be leant on and walked with, recalling the time
When the first grew immortal, while both of us strained
To the height he had gained.
X.
Aers still came, shorter, sadder, more strong,
Writ now but in one hand, `I was not to faint, --
One .99lib.loved me for two -- would be with me ere long :
And Viva l Italia !99ｌｉｂ.t> -- he died for, our saint,
Who forbids our plaint."
XI.
My Nanni would add, `he was safe, and aware
Of a presehat turned off the balls, -- was imprest
It was Guido himself, who knew what I could bear,
And how twas impossible, quite dispossessed,
To live on for the rest."
XII.
On which, without pause, up the telegraph line
Swept smoothly the news from Gaeta : -- Shot.
Tell his mother. Ah, ah, ` his, ` their mother, -- not ` mine,
No voice says "My mother" again to me. What !
You think Guidot ?
XIII.
Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with Heaven,
They drop earths affes, ceive not of woe ?
I think not. Themselves were too lately fiven
Through THAT Love and Sorrow which reciled so
The Above and Below.
XIV.
O Christ of the five wounds, who lookdst through the dark
To the face of Thy mother ! sider, I pray,
How we others stand desolate, mark,
Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away,
And no last word to say !
XV.
Both boys dead ? but thats out of nature. We all
Have been patriots, yet each house must.99lib. always keep one.
Twere imbecile, hewing out roads to a wall ;
And, when Italy s made, for what end is it done
74
If we have not a son ?
XVI.
Ah, ah, ah ! wheas taken, what then ?
When the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport
Of the fire-balls of death crashing souls out of men ?
When the guns of Cavalli with final retort
Have cut the game short ?
XVII.
When Venid Rome keep their new jubilee,
When your .99lib.flag takes all heaven for its white, green, and red,
When you have your try from mountain to sea,
When King Victor has Italys on his head,
(And I have my Dead) --
XVIII.
What then ? Do not mock me. Ah, ring your bells low,
And burn yhts faintly ! My try is there,
Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow :
My Italy s THERE, with my brave civic Pair,
To disfranchise despair !
XIX.
Five me. Some women bear children in strength,
And bite back the cry of their pain in self-s ;
But the birth-pangs of nations will wring us at length
Into wail such as this -- a on forlorn
When the man-child is born.
XX.
Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east,
And one of them shot in the west by the sea.
Both ! both my boys ! If in keeping the feast
You want a great song for your Italy free,
Let none look at me !
[This was Laura Savio, of Turin, a poetess and patriot, whose sonswere killed at
Ana and Gaeta.]
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
My Heart and I
My Heart and I
I.
ENOUGH ! were tired, my heart and I.
We sit beside the headstohus,
And wish that name were c.９９ｌｉb.arved for us.
The moss reprints more tenderly
The hard types of the masons knife,
As heavens sweet life renews earths life
With which were tired, my heart and I.
II.
You see were tired, my heart and I.
We dealt with books, we trusted men,
And in our own blood drehe pen,
As if such colours could not fly.
We walked toht for fortunes end,
We loved too true to keep a friend ;
At last were tired, my heart and I.
III.
How tired we feel, my heart and I !
We seem of no use in the world ;
Our fancies hang grey and uncurled
About mens eyes indifferently ;
Our voice which thrilled you so, will let
You sleep; our tears are only wet :
What do we .９9liｂ.here, my heart and I ?
IV.
So tired, so tired, my heart and I !
It was not thus in that old time
When Ralph sat with me h the lime
To watch the su from the sky.
`Dear love, youre looking tired, he said;
I, smiling at him, shook my head :
Tis now were .99lib.tired, my heart and I.
V.
So tired, so tired, my heart and I !
Though now akes me on his arm
To fold me close and kiss me warm
Till each quick breath end in a sigh
Of happy languor. Now, alone,
We lean upon this graveyard stone,
Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I.
VI.
Tired out we are, my heart and I.
Suppose the world brought diadems
To tempt us, crusted with loose gems
Of powers and pleasures ? Let it try.
We scarcely care to look at even
A pretty child, ods blue heaven,
We feel so tired, my heart and I.
VII.
Yet who plains ? My heart and I ?
In this abundah no doubt
Is little room for things worn out :
Disdain them, break them, throw them by
And if before the days grew rough
We once were loved, used, -- well enough,
I think, weve fared, my heart and I.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
My Letters! all dead paper. . . (Sonnet XXVIII)
My Letters! all dead paper. . . (So XXVIII)９9lｉb?
My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
Ahey seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
Ahem drop down on my konight.
This said—he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To e and touch my hand. . . a simple thing,
Yes I wept 藏书网for it—this . . . the papers light. . .
Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if Gods future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine—and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this . . . 0 Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dar藏书网ed repeat at last!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
On A Portrait Of Wordsworth
On A Portrait Of Wordsworth
WORDSWORTH upon Helvellyn九九藏书 ! Let the cloud
Ebb audibly along the mountain-wind,
Then break against the rock, and show behind
The lowland valleys floating up to crowd
The seh beauty. He with forehead bowed
And humble-lidded eyes, as one ined
Before the sovran thought of his own mind,
And very meek with inspirations proud,
Takes here his rightful place as poet-priest
By the high altar, singing prayer and prayer
To the higher Heavens. A noble vision free
Our Haydons hand has flung out from the mist:
No portrait this, with Academic air !
This is the poet and his poetry.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning９９ｌib?
On A Portrait Of Wordsworth By B. R. Haydon
On A Portrait Of Wordsworth By B. R. Haydon九九藏书
Wordsworth upon Helvellyn ! Let the cloud
Ebb audibly along the mountain-wind,
.99lib.Then break against the rock, and show behind
The lowland valleys floating up to crowd
The seh beauty. He with forehead bowed
And humble-lidded eyes, as one ined
Before the sovran thought of his own mind,
And very meek with inspirations proud,
Takes here his rightful place as poet.99lib.-priest
By the high altar, singing prayer and prayer
To the higher Heavens. A noble vision free
Our H九九藏书aydons hand has flung out from the mist:
No portrait this, with Academic air !
This is the poet and his poetry.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning藏书网
Only a Curl.
Only a Curl.
I.
FRIENDS of faces unknown and a land
Unvisited over the sea,
Who tell me how lonely you stand
With a single gold curl in the hand
Held up to be looked at by me, --
II.
While you ask me to ponder and say
What a father and mother do,
With the bright fellow-locks put away
Out of reach, beyond kiss, in the clay
Where the violets press han you.
III.
Shall I speak like a poet, or run
Into weak womans tears for relief ?
Oh, children ! -- I never lost one, --
Yet my arm s round my own little son,
And Love knows the secret of Grief.
IV.
And I feel what it must be and is,
When God draws a new angel so
Through the house of a man up to His,
With a m?99ｌiｂ?urmur of musiiss,
And a rapture of light, you fo.
V.
How you think, staring九九藏书 on at the door,
Where the face of yel flashed in,
That its brightness, familiar before,
Burns off from you ever the more
For the dark of your sorrow and sin.
VI.
`God lent him and takes him, you sigh ;
-- Nay, there let me break with your pain :
God s generous in giving, say I, --
And the thing which He gives, I deny
That He ever take back again.
VII.
He gives what He gives. I appeal
To all who bear babes -- in the hour
When the veil of the body we feel
Rent round us, -- while torments reveal
The motherhoods advent in power,
VIII.
And the babe cries ! -- has each of us known
By apocalypse (God being there
Full in nature) the child is our own,
Life of life, love of love, moan of moan,
Through all ges, all times, everywhere.
IX.
He s ours and for ever. Believe,
O father ! -- O mother, look back
To the first loves assurao give
Means with God not to tempt or deceive
With a cup thrust in Benjamins sack.
X.
He gives what He gives. Be tent !
He resumes nothing given, -- be sure !
God lend ? Where the usurers lent
In His temple, indignant He went
And sced away all those impure.
XI.
He lends not ; but gives to the end,
As He loves to the end. If it seem
That He draws back a gift, prehend
Tis to add to it rather, -- amend,
And finish it up to your dream, --
XII.
Or keep, -- as a mother will toys
Too costly, though given by herself,
Till the room shall be stiller from noise,
And the children more fit for such joys,
Kept over their heads on the shelf.
XIII.
So look up, friends ! you, who indeed
Have possessed in your house a sweet piece
Of the Heaven which men strive for, must need
Be more earhan others are,--speed
Where they loiter, persist where they cease.
XIV.
You know how one angel smiles there.
Then weep not. Tis easy for you
To be drawn by a single gold hair
Of that curl, from earths storm and despair,
To the safe place above us. Adieu.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Pain In Pleasure
Pain In Pleasure
A THOUGHT ay like a flower upon mi,
And drew around it other thoughts like bees
For multitude and thirst of sweetnesses;
Whereat rejoig, I desired the art
Of the Greek whistler, who to wharf and mart
Could lure those i swarms fre-trees
That I might hive with me such thoughts and please
My soul so, always. foolish terpart
Of a weak mans vain wishes ! While I spoke,
The thought I.99lib. called a flrew le-rough
The thoughts, called bees, stuo festering:
Oh, eain (cried Reason as she woke)
Your best and gladdest thoughts but long enough,
And they will all prove sad enough to sting !
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Past And Future
Past And Future
MY future will not copy f99lib?t>air my past
On any leaf but Heavens. Be fully done
Supernal Will ! I would not fain be one
Who, s.９９ｌｉｂ.atisfying thirst and breaking fast,
Upon the fulness of the heart at last
Says no grace after meat. My wine has run
Indeed out of my cup, and there is none
To gather up the bread of my repast
Scattered and trampled; yet I find some good
In ea?9９ｌib.rths green herbs, and streams that bubble up
Clear fro99lib.m the darkling ground,--tent until
I sit with angels before better food: --
Dear Christ ! when thy new vintage fills my cup,
This hand shall shake no more, nor that wine spill
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Past and Future.
Past and Future.
MY future will not copy fair my past
On.99ｌib. any leaf but Heavens. Be fully done,
Supernal Will ! I would not fain be one
Who, satisfying thirst and breaking fast
Upon the fulness of the heart, at last
Saith no grace after meat. My wih run
Indeed out of my cup, and there is none
To gather up the bread of my repast
Scattered and trampled ! Yet I find s藏书网ome good
Ihs green herbs, and streams that bubble up
Clear from the darkling ground, -- tent until
I sit with angels before better food.
Dear Christ ! when thy ne.99lｉb.w vintage fills my cup,
This hand shall shake no more, nor that wine spill.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Patience Taught By Nature
Patieaught By Nature
O DREARY life, we cry, O dreary life !
And still the geions of the bird九九藏书s
Sing through hing, and the flocks and herds
Serenely live while we are keeping strife
With Heavens true purpose in us, as a knife
Against which we may struggle ! O girds
Unslaed the dry land, savannah-swards
Unweary sweep, hills watworn, and rife
Meek leaves drop year]y from the forest-trees
To show, above, the unwasted stars that pass
In their old glory: O thou God of old,
Grant me some smaller grace than es to these !--
But so much patience as a blade of grass
Grows by, tehrough the heat and cold.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Perplexed Music
Perplexed Music
EXPERIENCE, like a pale musi, holds
A dulcimer of patien his hand,
Whence harmonies, we ot uand,
Of God; will in his worlds, the strain unfolds
In sad-perplexed minors: deathly colds
Fall on us while we hear, and .9９ｌiｂ?termand
Our sangui back from the fand
With nightingales in visi.9９lｉｂ.onary wolds.
We murmur Where is aain tune
Or measured musi suotes as these ?
But angels, leaning from the golde,
Are not so miheir fine ear hath w.99lib.on
The issue of pleted ces,
And, smiling dowars, they whisper--
SWEET.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning藏书网
Poet And The Bird, The
Poet And The Bird, The
Said a people to a poet---" Go out from among us straightway!
While we are thinkihly things, thou si of divine.
Theres a little fair brown nightingale, who, sitting ieways
Makes fitter music to our ears than any song of thine!"
The poet went out weeping---the nightingale ceased ting;
"Now, wherefore, O thou nightingale, is all thy sweetness done?"
I ot sing my earthly things, the heavenly poet wanting,
Whose highest harmony includes the lo.99ｌｉｂ?west under sun."
The poet went out weeping,---and died abroad, bereft there---
The bird flew to his grav九九藏书e and died, amid a thousand wails:---
And, when I last came by the place, I swear the music left there
Was only of the poets song, and not the nightingales.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Prisoner, The
Prisohe九九藏书
I t the dismal time by months and years
Since last I felt the green sward under foot,
And the great breath of all things summer-
Met mine upon my lips. h appears
As strao me as dreams of distant spheres
Or thoughts of Heaven we weep at. Natures lute
Sounds on, behind this door so closely shut,
A strange wild music to the prisoners ears,
Dilated by the distaill the brain
Grows dim with fancies which it feels too
While ever, with a visio.99lib.nary pain,
Past the precluded senses, sweep and Rhine
Streams, forests, glades, and many a golden train
Of sunlit hills transfigured to Divine.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning九九藏书
Rosalinds Scroll
Rosalinds Scroll
I LEFT thee last, a child at heart,
A woman scar years:
I e to thee, a solemn corpse
Whieither feels nor fears.
I have no breath to use in sighs;
They laid the dead-weights on mine eyes
To seal them safe from tears.
Look oh thine own calm look:
I meet it calm as thou.
No look of thine ge this smile,
Or break thy sinful vow:
I tell thee that my poor sd heart
Is of thih--thih--a part:
It ot vex thee now.
I have prayd for thee with bursting sob
When passions course was free;
I have prayd for thee with silent lips
In the anguish none could see;
They whisperd oft, She sleepeth so.99lib.ft--
But I only pr9９lib?ayd for thee.
Go to! I pray for thee no more:
The corpses tongue is still;
Its folded fingers99lib? point to heaven,
But point there stiff and chill:
No farther wrong, no farther woe
Hath lice from the sin below
Its tranquil heart to thrill.
I charge thee, by the livings prayer,
And the deads silentness,
To wrin99lib?g from out thy soul a cry
Which God shall hear and bless!
Lest Heavens own palm droop in my hand,
And pale among the saints I stand,
A saint panionless.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Runaway Slave at Pilgrims Point, The
Runaway Slave at Pilgrims Point, The
I.
I stand on the mark beside the shore
Of the first white pilgrims bended knee,
Where exile turo aor,
And God was thanked for liberty.
I have run through the night, my skin is as dark,
I bend my knee down on this mark . . .
I look on the sky and the sea.
II.
O pilgrim-souls, I speak to you!
I see you e out proud and slow
From the land of the spirits pale as dew. . .
And round me and round me ye go!
O pilgrims, I have gasped and run
All night long from the whips of one
Who in your names works sin and woe.
III.
And thus I thought that I would e
And kneel here where I k before,
And feel your souls around me hum
In uoo the os roar;
And lift my black face, my black hand,
Here, in your o curse this land
Ye blessed in freedoms evermore.
IV.
I am black, I am black;
A God made me, they say.
But if He did so, smiling back
He must have cast His work away
Uhe feet of His white creatures,
With a look of s,--that the dusky features
Might be trodden again to clay.
V.
A He has made dark things
To be glad and merry as light.
Theres a little dark bird sits and sings;
Theres a dark stream ripples out of sight;
And the dark frogs t in the safe morass,
And the sweetest stars are made to pass
Oer the face of the darkest night.
VI.
But we who are dark, we are dark!
Ah, God, we have no stars!
About our souls in care and cark
Our blaess shuts like prison bars:
The poor souls crouch so far behind,
That never a fort they find
By reag through the prison-bars.
VII.
Indeed, we live beh the sky, . . .
That great smooth Hand of God, stretched out
On all His children fatherly,
To bless them from the fear and doubt,
Which would be, if, from this low place,
All operaight up to His face
Into the graernity.
VIII.
And still Gods sunshine and His frost,
They make us hot, they make us cold,
As if we were not blad lost:
And the beasts and birds, in wood and fold,
Do fear and take us for very men!
Could the weep-poor-will or the cat of the glen
Look into my eyes and be bold?
IX.
I am black, I am black!--
But, once, I laughed in girlish glee;
For one of my colour stood irack
Where the drivers drove, and looked at me--
And tender and full was the look he gave:
Could a slave look so at another slave?--
99lib?I look at the sky and the sea.
X.
And from that hour our spirits grew
As free as if unsold, unbought:
Oh, strong enough, since we were two
To quer the world, we thought!
The drivers drove us day by day;
We did not mind, we went one way,
And er a liberty sought.
XI.
In the sunny grouween the es,
He said "I love you" as he passed:
When the shingle-r sharp with the rains,
I heard how he vowed it fast:
While others shook, he smiled i
As he carved me a bowl of the cout,
Through the roar of the hurries.
XII.
I sang his name instead of a song;
Over and over I sang his name--
Upward and downward I drew it along
My various he same, the same!
I sang it low, that the slave-girls near
Might never guess from aught they could hear,
It was only a name.
XIII.
I look on the sky and the sea--
We were two to love, and two to pray,--
Yes, two, O God, who cried to Thee,
Though nothing didst Thou say.
Coldly Thou satst behind the sun!
And now I cry who am but one,
How wilt Thou speak to-day?--
XIV.
We were black, we were black!
We had no claim to love and bliss:
What marvel, if each turo lack?
They wrung my cold hands out of his,--
They dragged him . . . where ? . . . I crawled to touch
His bloods mark in the dust! . . . not much,
Ye pilgrim-souls, . . . though plain as this!
XV.
Wrong, followed by a deeper wrong!
Mere griefs too good for such as I.
So the white men brought the shame ere long
Tle the sob of my agony.
They would not leave me for my dull
Wet eyes!--it was too merciful
To let me weep pure tears and die.
XVI.
I am black, I am black!--
I wore a child upon my breast
An amulet that hung too slack,
And, in my u, could not rest:
Thus we went moaning, child and mother,
Oo another, oo another,
Until all ended for the best:
XVII.
For hark ! I will tell you low . . . Iow . . .
I am black, you see,--
And the babe who lay on my bosom so,
Was far too white . . . too white for me;
As white as the ladies who sed to pray
Beside me at church but yesterday;
Though my tears had washed a play knee.
XVIII.
My own, own child! I could not bear
To look in his face, it was so white.
I covered him up with a kerchief there;
I covered his fa close and tight:
And he moaned and struggled, as well might be,
For the white child wanted his liberty--
Ha, ha! he wanted his master right.
XIX.
He moaned a with his head a,
His little feet that never grew--
He struck them out, as it was meet,
Against my heart to break it through.
I might have sung and made him mild--
But I dared not sing to the white-faced child
The only song I knew.
XX.
I pulled the kerchief very close:
He could not see the sun, I swear,
More, then, alive, than now he does
From between the roots of the mango . . . where
. . . I know where. Close! a child and mother
D to look at one another,
When one is blad one is fair.
XXI.
Why, in that single glance I had
Of my childs face, . . . I tell you all,
I saw a look that made me mad . . .
The masters look, that used to fall
On my soul like his lash . . . or worse!
And so, to save it from my curse,
I twisted it round in my shawl.
XXII.
And he moaned and trembled from foot to head,
He shivered from head to foot;
Till, after a time, he lay instead
Too suddenly still and mute.
I felt, beside, a stiffening cold, . . .
I dared to lift up just a fold . . .
As in lifting a leaf of the mango-fruit.
XXIII.
But my fruit . . . ha, ha!--九九藏书there, had been
(I laugh to think ont at this hour! . . .)
Your fine white angels, who have seen
he secret of Gods power, . . .
And plucked my fruit to make them wine,
And sucked the soul of that child of mine,
As the humming-bird sucks the soul of the flower.
XXIV.
Ha, ha, for the trick of the angels white!
They freed the white childs spirit so.
I said not a word, but, day and night,
I carried the body to and fro;
And it lay on my heart like a stone . . . as chill.
--The.99lib. sun may shi as much as he will:
I am cold, though it happened a month ago.
XXV.
From the white mans house, and the black mans hut,
I carried the little body on,
The forests arms did round us shut,
And silehrough the trees did run:
They asked no question as I went,--
They stood too high for astonishment,--
They could see God sit on His throne.
XXVI.
My little body, kerchiefed fast,
I bore it on through the forest . . . on:
And when I felt it was tired at last,
I scooped a hole beh the moon.
Through the forest-tops the angels far,
With a white sharp finger from every star,
Did point and mock at what was done.
XXVII.
Yet when it was all done aright, . . .
Earth, twixt me and my baby, strewed,
All, ged to black earth, . . . nothing white, . . .
A dark child in the dark,--ensued
Some fort, and my heart grew young:
I sate down smiling there and sung
The song I learnt in my maidenhood.
XXVIII.
And thus ere reciled,
The white child and black mother, thus:
For, as I sang it, soft and wild
The same song, more melodious,
Rose from the grave whereon I sate!
It was the dead child singing that,
To join the souls of both of us.
XXIX.
I look on the sea and the sky!
Where the pilgrims ships first anchored lay,
The free sun rideth gloriously;
But the pilgrim-ghosts have slid away
Through the earliest streaks of the morn.
My face is black, but it glares with a s
Which they dare not meet by day.
XXX.
Ah!--in their stead, their hunter sons!
Ah, ah! they are ohey hunt in a ring--
Keep off! I brave you all at once--
I throw off your eyes like shat sting!
You have killed the black eagle at , I think:
Did you and still in your triumph, and shrink
From the stroke of her wounded wing?
XXXI.
(Man, drop that stone you dared to lift!--)
I wish you, who stand there five a-breast,
Each, for his own wifes joy and gift,
A little corpse as safely at rest
As mine in the mangos!--Yes, but she
May keep live babies on her knee,
And sing the song she liketh best.
XXXll.
I am not mad: I am black.
I see you staring in my face--
I know you, staring, shrinking back--
Ye are born of the Washington-race:
And this land is the free America:
And this mark on my wrist . . . (I prove what I say)
Ropes tied me up here to the flogging-place.
XXXIII.
You think I shrieked then? Not a sound!
I hung, as a gourd hangs in the sun.
I only cursed them all around,
As softly as I might have done
My very own child!--From these sands
Up to the mountains, lift your hands,
O slaves, and end what I begun!
XXXIV.
Whips, curses; these must ahose!
For in this UNION, you have set
Two kinds of men in adverse rows,
Each loathing each: and all fet
The seven wounds in Christs body fair;
While HE sees gaping everywhere
Our tless wounds that pay .
XXXV.
Our wounds are different.?９９lib? Your white men
Are, after all, not gods indeed,
Nor able to make Christs again
Do good with bleeding. We who bleed . . .
(Stand off!) we help not in our loss!
We are too heavy for our cross,
And fall and crush you and your seed.
XXXVI.
I fall, I swoon! I look at the sky:
The clouds are breaking on my brain;
I am floated along, as if I should die
Of libertys exquisite pain--
In the name of the white child, waiting for me
In the death-dark where we may kiss and agree,
White men, I leave you all curse-free
In my brokes disdain!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Seraph and Poet, The
Seraph and Poet, The
The seraph sings before the ma
God-One, and in the burning of the Seven,
And with the full life of mate
Heavih him like a mothers
Warm with her first-borns slumber in that
The poet sings upon the earth grave-riven,
Before the naughty world, soon self-fiven
Fing him,--and in the darkness prest
From his own soul by worldly weights.
Even so,
Sing, seraph with the glory ! heaven is high;
Sing, poet with the sorrow ! earth is low:
The universes inward voices cry
Amen to either song of joy and woe:
Sing, seraph,--poet,--sing on eq?99lｉｂ.ually !
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet 01 - 05
So 01 - I thought once how Theocritus had sung
I
I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who eae in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years.99lib., the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow ae. Straightway I was ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair:
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,—
Guess now who holds thee? — Death, I said. But, there,
The silver answer rang,— Not Death, but Love.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 02 - But only three in all Gods universe
II
But only three in all Gods universe
Have heard this word thou hast said,—Himself, beside
Thee speaking, and me listening! and replied
One of us . . . that was God, . . . and laid the curse
So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce
My sight from seeing thee,—that if I had died,
The deathweights, placed there, would have signified
Less absolute exclusion. Nay is worse
From God than from all others, O my friend!
Men could not part us with their worldly jars,
Nor the seas ge us, nor the tempests bend;
Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:
And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,
We should but vow the faster for the stars.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 03 - Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
III
Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
Our ministering two angels look surprise
On one a藏书网nother, as they strike athwart
Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art
A guest for queens to social pageantries,
With gages from a hundred brighter eyes
Than tears even make mio play thy part
Of chief musi. What hast thou to do
With looking from the lattice-lights at me,
A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through
The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree?
The chrism is on thine head,—on mihe de;mdash;
Ah must dig the level where these agree.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 04 - Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor
IV
Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watg up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou lift this houses latch too poor
For hand of thine? and st thou think and bear
To let thy music drop here unaware
In folds of golden fulness at my door?
Look up ahe casement broken in,
The bats and owlets builders in the roof!
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof
Of desolation! there s a voice within
That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 05 - I lift my heavy heart up solemnly
V
I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
As ora her sepulchral urn,
And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
Through the ashen grayness. If thy foot in s
Could tread them out to darkness utterly,
It might be well perhaps. But if instead
Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
The gray dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,
O my Beloved, will not shield thee so,
That none of all the fires shall scord shred
The hair beh. Stand farther off then! go.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet 06 - 10
So 06 - Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
VI
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upohreshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall and
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore—
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.９9ｌｉｂ.
So 07 - The face of all the world is ged, I think
VII
The face of all the world is ged, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
Was caught up into love, and taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole
God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,
And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.
The names of try, heaven, are ged away
For where thou art or shalt be, there or here;
And this . . . this lute and song . . . loved yesterday,
(The singing angels know) are only dear
Because thy name moves right in what they say.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 08 - What I give thee back, O liberal
VIII
What I give thee back, O liberal
And princely giver, who hast brought the gold
And purple of thi, unstained, untold,
And laid them oside of the-wall
For such as I to take or leave withal,
In ued largesse? am I cold,
Ungrateful, that for these most manifold
High gifts, I render nothing back at all?
Not so; not cold,—but very poor instead.
Ask God who knows. For frequent tears have run
The colors from my life, a so dead
And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done
To give the same as pillow to thy head.
Go farther! let it serve to trample on.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 09 - it be right to give what I give?
IX
it be right to give what I give?
To let thee sit beh the fall of tears
As salt as mine, ahe sighing years
Re-sighing on my lips renunciative
Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live
For all thy adjurations? O my fears,
That this scarce be right! We are not peers,
So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,
That givers of such gifts as mine are, must
Be ted with the ungenerous. Out, alas!
I will not soil thy purple with my dust,
Nor breathe my po?9９lｉｂ.ison on thy Venice-glass,
Nive thee any love—which were unjust.
Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 10 - Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed藏书网
X
Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temp99liｂ?le burn, or flax; an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:
And love is fire. And when I say at need
I love thee . . . mark! . . . I love thee—in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright,
With sce of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face toward thiheres nothing low
In love, when love the lowest: mea creatures
Who love God, God accepts while loving so.
And what I feel, across the inferior features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
How that great work of Love enhanatures.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet 11-15
So 11 - And therefore if to love be desert
XI
And therefore if to love be desert,
I am not all unworthy. Cheeks as pale
As these you see, and trembling khat fail
To bear the burden of a九九藏书 heavy heart,—
This weary minstrel-life that once was girt
To climb Aornus, and scarce avail
To pipe now gainst the valley nightingale
A melanusic,—why advert
To these things? O Beloved, it is plain
I am not of thy worth nor for thy place!
A, because I love thee, I obtain
From that same love this vindig grace,
To live on still in love, a in vain,—
To bless thee, yet renouhee to thy face.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 12 - Ihis very love which is my boast
XII
Ihis very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth e with a ruby large enow
To draw mens eyes and prove the inner cost,—
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, uhat thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine ear eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I ot speak
Of love even, as a good thing of my own:
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,—
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 13 - And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
XIII
And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
The love I bear thee, finding words enough,
And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,
Between our faces, to cast light on99lib? each?—
I drop it at thy feet. I ot teach
My hand to hold my spirit so far off
From myself—me—that I should bring thee proof
In words, of love hid i of reach.
Nay, let the sileny womanhood
end my woman-love to thy belief,—
Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed,
Ahe garment of my life, in brief,
By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,
Lest oouch of this heart vey its grief
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 14 - If thou must love me, let it be for nought9９lｉｂ?
XIV
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for loves sake only. Do not say
I love her for her smile—her look—her way
Of speakily,—for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, aes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day—
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be ged, or ge for thee,—and love, sht,
May be?９9ｌiｂ? unwrought so. her love me for
Thine own dear pitys wiping my cheeks dry,—
A creature might fet to weep, who bore
Thy fort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for loves sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through loves eternity.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 15 - Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
XV
Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
Too calm and sad a fa front of thine;
For we two look two ways, and ot shine
With the same sunlight on our brow and hair.
Ohou lookest with no doubting care,
As on a bee shut in a crystalline;
Since sorrow hath shut me safe in loves divine,
And to spread wing and fly ier air
Were most impossible failure, if I strove
To fail so. But I look on thee—on thee—
Beholding, besides love, the end of love,
Hearing oblivion beyond memory;
As one who sits and gazes from above,
Over the rivers to the bitter sea.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet 16 - 20
So 16 - A, because thou overest so
XVI
A, because thou overest so,
Because thou art more noble and like a king,
Thou st prevail against my fears and fling
Thy purple rouill my heart shall grow
Too close against thi heh to know
How it shook when alone. Why, quering
May prove as lordly and plete a thing
In lifting upward, as in crushing low!
And as a vanquished soldier yields his sword
To one who lifts him from the bloody earth,
Even so, Beloved, I at last record,
Here ends my strife. If thou invite me forth,
I rise above abasement at the word.
Make thy love larger to enlarge my worth.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 17 - My poet, thou st tou all the notes
XVII
My poet, thou st tou all the notes
God set between his After and Before,
And strike up and strike off the general roar
Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats
In a serene air purely. Antidotes
Of medicated musiswering for
Mankinds forlor uses, thou st pour
From theo their ears. Gods will devotes
Thio suds, and mio wait on thine.
How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use?
A hope, to sing by gladly? or a fine
Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse?
A shade, in which to sing—of palm or pine?
A grave, on which to rest from singing? Choose.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 18 - I never gave a lock of hair away
XVIII
I never gave a lock of hair away
To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,
Whiow upon my fihoughtfully,
I ring out to the full browh and say
Take it. My day of youth weerday;
My hair no longer boun九九藏书ds to my foots glee,
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree,
As girls do, any more: it only may
Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears,
Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside
Through sorrows trick. I thought the funeral-shears
Would take this first, but Love is justified,—
Take it thou,—finding pure, from all those years,
The kiss my mother left here when she died.九九藏书Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 19 - The souls Rialto hath its merdise
XIX
The souls Rialto hath its merdise;
I barter curl for curl upon that mar九九藏书t,
And from my poets forehead to my heart
Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,—
As purply black, as erst to Pindars eyes
The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart
The nine white Muse-brows. For this terpart, . . .
The bay-s shade, Beloved, I surmise,
Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black!
Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath,
I tie the shadows safe from gliding back,
And lay the gift where nothing hih;
Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack
No natural heat till mine grows cold ih.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 20 - Beloved, my Beloved, when I think
XX
Beloved, my Beloved, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sat alone here in the snow
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
No moment at thy voice, but, link by link,
Went ting all my s as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand,—why, thus I drink
Of lifes great cup of wonder ! Wonderful,
o feel thee thrill the day ht
With personal act or speeor ever cull
Some presce of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull,
Who ot guess Gods prese of sight.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet 21 - 25
So 21 - Say ain, a once ain
XXI
Say ain, a once ain,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem a cuckoo-song, as thou dost treat it,
Remember, o the hill or plain,
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain
es the fresh Spring in all her green pleted.
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubts pain
Cry, Speak once more—thou lovest! Who fear
Too many stars, though ea heaven shall roll,
Too many flowers, though each shall the year?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me—toll
The silver iterance!—only minding, Dear,
To love me also in sileh thy soul.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 22 - When our two souls stand up ered strong
XXII
When our two souls stand up ered strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curved point,—what bitter wrong
the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here tehink. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather oh, Beloved,—where the unfit
trarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, a９9ｌib.
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 23 - Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead
XXIII
Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
Because of grave-damps falling round my head?
I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read
Thy thought so iter. I am thine—
But . . . so much to thee? I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble ? Then my soul, instead
Of dreams of death, resumes lifes lower range.
Then, love me, Love! look on me—breathe on me!
As brighter ladies do not t it strange,
For love, to give up acres and degree,
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exge
My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee!
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 24 - Let the worlds sharpness, like a clasping krong>
XXIV
Let the worlds sharpness, like a clasping knife,
Shut in upon itself and do no harm
In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,
A us hear no sound of human strife
After the click of the shutting. Life to life—
I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm
Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife
Are weak to injure. Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Aloo heavenly dews that drop not fewer,
Growing straight, out of mans reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, make us poor.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 25 - A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borrong>
XXV
A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne
From year to year until I saw thy face,
And sorrow after sorrow took the place
Of all those natural joys as lightly worn
As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn
By a beati at daime. Hopes apace
Were ged to long despairs, till Gods own grace
Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn
My heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me bring
A drop adown thy calmly great
Deep being! Fast it sih, as a thing
Which its own nature doth precipitate,
While thih close above it, mediating
Betwixt the stars and the unaplished fate.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet 26 - 30
So 26 - I lived with visions for my pany
XXVI
I lived with visions for my pany
Instead of men and women, years ago,
And found them gees, nor thought to know
A sweeter music than they played to me.
But soorailing purple was not free
Of this worlds dust, their lutes did silent grow,
And I myself grew faint and blind below
Their vanishing eyes. Then THOU didst e—to be,
Beloved, what they seemed. Their shining fronts,
Their songs, their splendors (better, yet the same,
As river-water hallowed into fonts),
Met in thee, and from out thee overcame
My soul with satisfa of9９ｌｉｂ. all wants:
Because Gods gifts put ma dreams to shame.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 27 - My own Beloved, who hast lifted me
XXVII
My own Beloved, who hast lifted me
From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,
And, iwixt the languid ris, blown
A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully
Shines out again, as all the angels see,
Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own,
Who camest to me when the world was gone,
And I who looked for only God, found thee!
I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad.
As one who stands in dewless asphodel
Looks backward oedious time he had
In the upper life,—so I, with bosom-swell,
Make witness, here, between the good and bad,
That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 28 - My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
XXVIII
My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
Ahey seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
Ahem drop down on my ko-night.
This said,—he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To e and touch my hand . . . a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it!—this, . . . the papers light . . .
Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if Gods future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine—and so its ink has paled
With Iying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this . . . O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning?99lｉｂ?So 29 - I think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and bud
XXIX
I think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there s nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it uood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly
Rehy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs ahy trunk all bare,
Ahese bands of greenery whisphere thee
Drop heavily do;mdash;burst, shattered, everywhere!
Because, in this deep joy to see ahee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee—I am too hee.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 30 - I see thine image through my tears to-night
XXX
I see thine image through my tears to-night,
Ao-day I saw thee smiling. How
Refer the cause?&九九藏书mdash;Beloved, is it thou
Or I, who makes me sad? The acolyte
Amid the ted joy and thankful rite
May so fall flat, with pale ie brow,
Oar-stair. I hear thy void vow,
Perplexed, uain, sihou art out of sight,
As he, in his swooning ears, the choirs Amen.
Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when
Too vehement light dilated my ideal,
For my souls eyes? Will that light e again,
As now these tears e—falling hot and real?
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet 31 - 35
So 31 - Thou est! all is said without a word
XXXI
Thou est! all is said without a word.
I sit beh thy looks, as children do
In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred
Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred
In that last doubt! a I ot rue
The sin most, but the ocp;mdash;that we two
Should for a moment stand unministered
By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close,
Thou dovelike help! and, when my fears would rise,
With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
Brood down with thy divine sufficies
These thoughts which tremble whe of those,
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 32 - The first time that the sun rose on thih
XXXII
The first time that the sun rose on thih
To love me, I looked forward to the moon
To sla all those bonds which seemed too soon
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.
Quick-lovis, I thought, may quickly loathe;
And, looking on myself, I seemed not one
For such mans love!—more like an out-of-tune
Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth
To spoil his song with, and which, snatch９９ｌiｂ.ed in haste,
Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.
I did n myself so, but I placed
A wrong on thee. For perfect strains may float
h master-hands, from instruments defaced,—
And great souls, at oroke, may do and doat.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 33 - Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
XXXIII
Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
The name I used to run at, when a child,
From i play, and leave the cowslips piled,
To glance up in some face that proved me dear
With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear
Fond voices which, being drawn and reciled
Into the music of Heavens undefiled,
Call me no longer. Silen the bier,
While I call God—call God!—So let thy mouth
Be heir to those who are now exanimate.
Gather the north flowers to plete the south,
And catch the early love up ie.
Yes, call me by that name,—and I, in truth,
With the same heart, will answer and not wait.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 34 - With the same heart, I said, Ill ahee
XXXIV
With the same heart, I said, Ill ahee
As those, when thou shalt call me by my name—
Lo, the vain promise! is the same, the same,
Perplexed and ruffled by lifes strategy?
When called before, I told how hastily
I dropped my flowers or brake off from a game,
To run and answer with the smile that came
At play last moment, a on with me
Through my obedience. When I answer now,
I drop a grave thought, break from solitude;
Yet still my heart goes to thee—ponder ho;mdash;
Not as to a single good, but all my good!
Lay thy hand on it, best one, and allow
That no childs foot could run fast as this blood.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 35 - If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exge
XXXV
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exge
And be all to me? Shall I never miss
Home-talk and blessing and the on kiss
That es to each .９9ｌｉｂ.in turn, nor t it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors, another home than this?
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
Filled by dead eyes too teo know ge?
That s hardest. If to quer love, has tried,
To quer grief, tries more, as all things prove;
Frief indeed is love and grief beside.
Alas, I have grieved sol am hard to love.
Yet love me—wilt thou? Open thi wide,
And fold withi wings of thy dove.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet 36 - 40
So 36 - Whe first and loved, I did not build
XXXVI
Whe first and loved, I did not build
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean
To last, a love set pendulous between
Sorrow and sorrow? Nay, I rather thrilled,
Distrusting every light that seemed to gild
The onath, and feared to overlean
A finger even. And, though I have grown serene
And strong sihen, I think that God has willed
A still renewable fear . . . O love, O 九九藏书troth . . .
Lest these enclasped hands should never hold,
This mutual kiss drop dowween us both
As an uhing, ohe lips being cold.
And Love, be false! if he, to keep oh,
Must lose one joy, by his lifes star foretold.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 37 - Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make
XXXVII
Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make,
Of all that strong divineness which I know
For thine and thee, an image only so
Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and break.
It is that distant years which did not take
Thy sovranty, recoiling with a blow,
Have forced my swimming brain to undergo
Their doubt and dread, and blindly to forsake
Thy purity of likeness and distort
Thy worthiest love to a worthless terfeit:
As if a shipwrecked Pagan, safe in port,
His guardian sea-god to orate,
Should set a sculptured porpoise, gills a-snort
And vibrant tail, withiemple-gate.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 38 - First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
XXXVIII
F99lib.irst time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever si grew more and white,
Slow treetings, quick with its Oh, list,
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plaio my sight,
Than that first kiss. The sed passed i
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!
That was the chrism of love, which loves own ,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
I have been proud and said, My love, my own.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 39 - Because thou hast the power and ownst the grace
XXXIX
Because thou hast the power and ownst the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me
(Against which years have beat thus blangly
With their rains), and behold my souls true face,
The dim and weary witness of lifes race,—
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same souls distrag lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens,—because nor sin nor woe,
Nods infli, nor deaths neighborhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,—
Nothing repels thee, . . . Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 40 - Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!.99lib.
XL
Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!
I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth.
I have heard love talked in my early youth,
And sinot so long back but that the flowers
Then gathered, smell still. Mussulmans and Giaours
Throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth
For any weeping. Polyphemes white tooth
Slips o if, after frequent showers,
The shell is over-smooth,—and not so much
Will turhing called love, aside to hate
Or else to oblivion. But thou art not such
A lover, my Beloved! thou st wait
Through sorrow and siess, t souls to touch,
And think it soohers cry Too late.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet 41 - 44
So 41 - I thank all who have loved me in their hearts
XLI
I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
With thanks and love from 99lib.mine. Deep thanks to all
Who paused a little he prison-wall
To hear my musi its louder parts
Ere they went onward, eae to the marts
Or temples occupation, beyond call.
But thou, who, in my voices sink and fall
When the sob took it, thy divi Arts
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot
To hearken what I said between my tears, . . .
Instruct me how to thank thee! Oh, to shoot
My souls full meaning into future years,
That they should lend it utterance, and salute
Love that endures, from Life that disappears!
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 42 - My future will not copy fair my past
XLII
My future will not copy fair my past—
I wrote that once; and thinking at my side
My ministering life-angel justified
The word by his appealing look upcast
To the white throne of God, I tur last,
And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied
To angels in thy soul! Then I, long tried
By natural ills, received the fort fast,
While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrims staff
Gave out green leaves with m dews impearled.
I seek no copy now of lifes first half:
Leave here the pages with long musing curled,
And write me new my futures epigraph,
New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 43 - How do I love thee? Let me t the ways
XLIII
How do I love thee? Let me t the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth a
My soul reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everydays
Most quiet need, by sun and dle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive fht;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhoods faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo 44 - Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
XLIV
Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And whi warm and cold days I withdrew
From my hearts ground. Ihose beds and bowers
Be rown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet heres eglantine,
Here s ivy!—take them, as I used to do
Thy fowers, ahem where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true,
And tell藏书网 thy soul their roots are left in mine.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet I-V
So II thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who eae in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow ae. Straightway I was ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair:
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,--
Guess now who holds thee ? -- Death, I said. But, there,
The silver answer rang,-- Not Death, but Love.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo I: I Thought Once How Theocritus
I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who eae in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young;
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of.９9ｌｉｂ? my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow ae. Straightaway I was ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,--
Guess now who holds thee?--<i>Death,</i> I said, But, there,
The silver answer rang,--<i>Not Death, but Love.</i>
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo IIBut only three in all Gods universe..
Have heard this word thou hast said,--Himself, beside
Thee speaking, and me listening ! and replied
One of us . . . that was God, . . . and laid the curse
So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce
My sight from seeing thee,--that if I had died,
The deathweights, placed there, would have signified
Less absolute exclusion. Nay is worse
From God than from all others, O my friend !
Men could not part us with their worldly jars,
Nor the seas ge us, nor the tempests bend;
Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:
And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,
We should but vow the faster for the stars.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo II: But Only Three in All Gods Universe
But only three in all Gods universe
Have heard this word thou has said,--Himself, beside
Thee speaking, and me listening! and replied
One of us...that was God,...and laid the curse
So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce
My sight from seeing thee,--that if I had died,
The deathweights, placed there, would have signified
Less absolute exclusion. Nay is worse
From God than from all others, O my friend!
Men could not part us with their worldly jars,
Nor the seas ge us, nor the tempests bend;
Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:
And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,
We should but vow the faster for the stars.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo III
Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart !
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
Our ministering two angels look surprise
On one another, as they strike athwart
Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art
A guest for queens to social pageantries,
With gages from a hundred brighter eyes
Than tears even make mio play thy part
Of chief musi. What hast thou to do
With looking from the lattice-lights at me,
A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through
The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree ?
The chrism is on thine head,--on mihe dew,--
Ah must dig the level where these agree.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo III: Unlike Are We, Urong>
Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
Our ministering two angels look surprise
On one another, as they strike athwart
Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art
A guest for queens to social pageantries,
With gages from a hundred brighter eyes
Than tears even make mio play thy part
Of chief musi. What hast thou to do
With looking from the lattice-lights at me,
A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through
The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree?
The chrism is on thine head,--on mihe dew--
Ah must dig the level where these agree.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo IV
Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems ! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watg up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou lift this houses latch too poor
For hand of thine ? and st thou think and bear
To let thy music drop here unaware
In folds of golden fulness at my door ?
Look up ahe casement broken in,
The bats and owlets builders in the roof !
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof
Of desolation ! there s a voice within
That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo IV: Thou Hast Thy Calling
Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watg up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou lift this houses latch too poor
For hand of thine? and st thou think and bear
To let thy music drip here unaware
In folds of golden fulness at my door?
Look up ahe casement broken in,
The bats and owlets builders in the roof!
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof
Of desolation! theres a voice within
That weeps...as thou must sing...alone, aloof.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo V
I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
As ora her sepulchral urn,
And, looking藏书网 in thine eyes, I overturn
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
Through the ashe藏书网n grayness. If thy foot in s
Could tread them out to darkness utterly,
It might be well perhaps. But if instead
Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
The gray dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,
O my Beloved, will not shield thee so,
That none of all the fires shall scord shred
The hair beh. Stand farther off then ! go.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo V: I Lift My Heavy Heart Up
I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
As ora her sepulchral urn,
And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
Through the ashen greyness. If thy foot in s
Could tread them out to darkness utterly,
It might be well perhaps. But if instead
Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
The grey dust up,...those laurels on thine head,
O my Belovèd, will not shield thee so,
That none of all the fires shall scord shred
The hair beh. Stand farther off then! go.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet VI-X
So VI
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upohreshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall and
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore--
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo VI: Go From Me
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Heh in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upohreshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall and
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore--
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo VII
The face of all the world is ged, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
Was caught up into love, and taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole
God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,
And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.
The names of try, heaven, are ged away
For where thou art or shalt be, there or here;
And this . . . this lute and song . . . loved yesterday,
(The singing angels know) are only dear
Because thy name moves right in what they say.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo VII: The Face of All the World
The face of all the world is ged, I think,
Since fi. I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
Was caught up into love, and taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole
God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,
And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.
The names of try, heaven, are ged away
For where thou art or shalt be, there or here;
And this . . . this lute and song . . . loved yesterday,
(The singing angels know) are only dear
Because thy name moves right in what they say.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo VIII
What I give thee back, O liberal
And princely giver, who hast brought the gold
And purple of thi, unstained, untold,
And laid them oside of the-wall
For such as I to take or leave withal,
In ued largesse ? am I cold,
Ungrateful, that for these most manifold
High gifts, I render nothing back at all ?
Not so; not cold,--but very poor instead.
Ask God who knows. For frequent tears have run
The colors from my life, a so dead
And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done
To give the same as pillow to thy head.
Go farther ! let it serve to trample on.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo VIII: What I Give Thee Back
What I give thee back, O liberal
And princely giver, who hast brought the gold
And purple of thi, unstained, untold,
And laid them oside of the wall
For such as I to take or leave withal,
In ued largesse? am I cold,
Ungrateful, that for these most manifold
High gifts, I render nothing back at all?
Not so; not cold,--but very poor instead?.
Ask God who knows. For frequent tears have run
The colours from my life, a so dead
And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done
To give the same as pillow to thy head.
Go farther! let it serve to trample on.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo IX
it be right to give what I give ?
To let thee sit beh the fall of tears
As salt as mine, ahe sighing years
Re-sighing on my lips renunciative
Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live
For all thy adjurations ? O my fears,
That this scarce be right ! We are not peers,
So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,
That givers of such gifts as mine are, must
Be ted with the ungenerous. Out, alas !
I will not soil thy purple with my dust,
Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass,
Nive thee any love--which were unjust.
Beloved, I only love thee ! let it pass.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo IX: It Be Right to Give
it be right to give what I give?
To let thee sit beh the fall of tears
As salt as mine, ahe sighing years
Re-sighing on my lips renunciative
Thro藏书网ugh those infrequent smiles which fail to live
For all thy adjurations? O my fears,
That this scarce be right! We are not peers,
So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,
That givers of such gifts as mine are, must
Be ted with the ungenerous. Out, alas!
I will not soil thy purple with my dust,
Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass,
Nive thee any love--which were unjust.
Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo X
Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:
And love is fire. And when I say at need
I love thee . . . mark ! . . . I love thee--in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright,
With sce of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face toward thiheres nothing low
In love, when love the lowest: mea creatures
Who love God, God accepts while loving so.
And what I feel, across the inferior features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
How that great work of Love enhanatures.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo X: Yet Love, Mere Love
Yet, love, mere love, is beaut藏书网iful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:
And love is fire. And when I say at need
I love thee...mark!...I love thee--in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright,
With sce of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face toward thiheres nothing low
In love, when love the lowest: mea creatures
Who love God, God accepts while loving so.
And what I feel, across the inferior features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
How that great work of Love enhanatures.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet XI-XL
So XI
And therefore if to love be desert,
I am not all unworthy. Cheeks as pale
As these you see, and trembling khat fail
To bear the burden of a heavy heart,--
This weary minstrel-life that once was girt
To climb Aornus, and scarce avail
To pipe now gainst the valley nightingale
A melanusic,--why advert
To these things ? O Beloved, it is plain
I am not of thy worth nor for thy place !
A, because I love thee, I obtain
From that same love this vindig grace,
To live on still in love, a in vain,--
To bless thee, yet renouhee to thy face.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XI: And Therefore If to Love
And therefore if to love be desert,
I am not all unworthy. Cheeks as pale
As these you see, and trembling khat fail
To bear the burden of a heavy heart,--
This weary minstrel-life that once was girt
To climb Aornus, and scarce avail
To pipe now gainst the valley nightingale
A melanusic,--why advert
To these things? O Belovèd, it is plain
I am not of thy worth nor for thy place!
A, because I love thee, I obtain
From that same love this vindig grace,
To live on still in love, a in vain,--
To bless thee, yet renouhee to thy face.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XII
Ihis very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth e with a ruby large enow
To draw mens eyes and prove the inner cost,--
This love eve all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, uhat thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine ear eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I ot speak
Of love even, as a good thing of my own:
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,--
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek !)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XII: Ihis Very Love
Ihis very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth e with ruby large enow
To draw mens eyes and prove the inner cost,--
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, uhat thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine ear eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I ot speak
Of love even, as good thing of my own:
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,--
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek--)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XIII
And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
The love I bear thee, finding words enough,
And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,
Between our faces, to cast light on each ?--
I drop it at thy feet. I ot teach
My hand to hold my spirit so far off
From myself--me--that I should bring thee proof
In words, of love hid i of reach.
Nay, let the sileny womanhood
end my woman-love to thy belief,--
Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed,
Ahe garment of my life, in brief,
By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,
Lest oouch of this heart vey its grief
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XIII: And Wilt Thou Have Me
And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
The love I bear thee, finding words enough,
And hold the torch out, while the winds藏书网 are rough,
Between our faces, to cast light upon each?
I drop it at thy feet. I ot teach
My hand to hold my spirit so far off
From myself.. me.. that I should bring thee proof,
In words of love hid in me...out of reach.
Nay, let the sileny womanhood
end my woman-love to thy belief,
Seeing that I stand unwon (however wooed)
Ahe garment of my life in brief
By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,
Lest oouch of this heart vey its grief.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XIV
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for loves sake only. Do not say
I love her for her smile--her look--her way
Of speakily,--for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, aes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day--
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be ged, or ge for thee,--and love, sht,
May be unwrought so. her love me for
Thine own dear pitys wiping my cheeks dry,--
A creature might fet to weep, who bore
Thy fort long, and lose thy love thereby !
But love me for loves sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through loves eternity.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XIV: If Thou Must Love Me
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for loves sake only. Do not say
<i>"I love her for her smile--her look--her way
Of speakily,--for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, aes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day" -</i>
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be ged, or ge for thee,--and love, sht,
May be unwrought so. her love me for
Thine own dear pitys wiping my cheeks dry, -
A creature might fet to weep, who bore
Thy fort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for loves sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through.. loves eternity.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XL
Oh, yes ! they love through all this world of ours !
I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth.
I have heard love talked in my early youth,
And sinot so long back but that the flowers
Then gathered, smell still. Mussulmans and Giaours
Throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth
For any weeping. Polyphemes white tooth
Slips o if, after frequent showers,
The shell is over-smooth,--and not so much
Will turhing called love, aside to hate
Or else to oblivion. But thou art not such
A lover, my Beloved ! thou st wait
Through sorrow and siess, t souls to touch,
And think it soohers cry Too late.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning9９ｌｉｂ?
So XL: Oh, Yes! They Love
Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!
I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth,
I have heard love talked in my early youth,
And sinot so long back but that the flowers
Then gathered, smell still. Mussulmans and Giaours,
Throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth
For any weeping. Polyphemes white tooth
Slips o if, after frequent showers,
The shell is over-smooth,-- and not so much
Will turhing called love, aside to hate
Or else to oblivion. But thou art not such
A lover, my Belovèd! thou st wait
Through sorrow and siess, t souls to touch,
And think it soohers cry <i>Too late.</i>
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet XLI-XV
So XLI
I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all
Who paused a little he prison-wall
To hear my musi its louder parts
Ere they went onward, eae to the marts
Or temples occupation, beyond call.
But thou, who, in my voices sink and fall
When the sob took it, thy divi Arts
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot
To hearken what I said between my tears, . . .
Instruct me how to thank thee ! Oh, to shoot
My souls full meaning into future years,
That they should lend it utterance, and salute
Love that endures, from Life that disappears !
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XLI: I Thank All
I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all
Who paused a little he prison-wall
To hear my musi its louder parts
Ere they went onward, eae to the marts
Or temples occupation, beyond call.
But thou, who, in my voices sink and fall
When the sob took it, thy divi Arts
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot
To hearken what I said between my tears,...
Instruct me how to thank thee! Oh, to shoot
My souls full meaning into future years,
That they should lend it utterance, and salute
Love that endures, from Life that disappears!
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XLII
My future will not copy fair my past--
I wrote that once; and thinking at my side
My ministering life-angel justified
The word by his appealing look upcast
To t.he white throne of God, I tur last,
And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied
To angels in thy soul ! Then I, long tried
By natural ills, received the fort fast,
While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrims staff
Gave out green leaves with m dews impearled.
I seek no copy now of lifes first half:
Leave here the pages with long musing curled,
And write me new my futures epigraph,
New angel mine, unhoped for in the world !
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XLII: My Future
My future will not copy fair my past -
I wrote that once; and thinking at my side
My ministering life-angel justified
The word by his appealing look upcast
To the white throne of God, I tur last,
And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied
To angels in thy soul! Then I, long tried
By natural ills, received the fort fast,
While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrims staff
Gave out green leaves with m dews impearled.
I seek no copy now of lifes first half:
Leave here the pages with long musing curled,
And write me new my futures epigraph,
New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XLIII
How do I love thee ? Let me t the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth a
My soul reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everydays
Most quiet need, by sun and dle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive fht;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhoods faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life !--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XLIII: How Do I Love Thee?
How do I love thee? Let me t the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth a
My soul reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every days
Most quiet need, by sun and dle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive fht.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhoods faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XLIV
Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And whi warm and cold days I withdrew
From my hearts ground. Ihose beds and bowers
Be rown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet heres eglantine,
Here s ivy !--take them, as I used to do
Thy fowers, ahem where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true,
Ahy soul their roots are left in mine.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XLIV: Belovèd, Thou Hast Brought Me
Belovèd, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And whi warm and cold days I withdrew
From my hearts ground. Ihose bed and bowers
Be rown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet heres eglantine,
Heres ivy!--take them, as I used to do
Thy flowers, ahem where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true,
Ahy soul, their roots are left in mine.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XV
Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
Too calm and sad a fa front of thine;
For we two look two ways, and ot shine
With the same sunlight on our brow and hair.
Ohou lookest with no doubting care,
藏书网As on a bee shut in a crystalline;
Since sorrow hath shut me safe in loves divine,
And to spread wing and fly ier air
Were most impossible failure, if I strove
To fail so. But I look on thee--on thee--
Beholding, besides love, the end of love,
Hearing oblivion beyond memory;
As one who sits and gazes from above,
Over the rivers to the bitter sea.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XV: Accuse Me Not
Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
Too calm and sad a fa front of thine;
For we two look two ways, and ot shine
With the same sunlight on our brow and hair.
Ohou lookest with no doubting care,
As on a bee in a crystalline;
Since sorrow hath shut me safe in loves divine
And to spread wing and fly ier air
Were most impossible failure, if I strove
To fail so. But I look on thee--on thee--
Beholding, besides love, the end of love,
Hearing oblivion beyond memory;
As one who sits and gazes from above,
Over the rivers to the bitter sea.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet XVI-XX
So XVI
A, because thou overest so,
Because thou art more noble and like a king,
Thou st prevail against my fears and fling
Thy purple rouill my heart shall grow
Too close against thi heh to know
How it shook when alone. Why, quering
May prove as lordly and plete a thing
In lifting upward, as in crushing low !
And as a vanquished soldier yields his sword
To one who lifts him from the bloody earth,
Even so, Beloved, I at last record,
Here ends my strife. If thou invite me forth,
I rise above abasement at the word.
Make thy love larger to enlarge my worth.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XVI: A, Because Thou
A, because thou overest so,
Because thou art more noble and like a king,
Thou st prevail against my fears and fling
Thy purple rouill my heart shall grow
Too close against thi heh to know
How it shook when alone. Why, quering
May prove as lordly and plete a thing
In lifting upward, as in crushing low!
And as a vanquished soldier yields his sword
To one who lifts him from the bloody earth;
Even so, Belovèd, I at last record,
Here ends my strife. If <i>thou</i..> invite me forth,
I rise above abasement at the word.
Make thy love larger to enlarge my worth.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XVII
My poet, thou st tou all the notes
God set between his After and Before,
And strike up and strike off the general roar
Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats
In a serene air purely. Antidotes
Of medicated musiswering for
Mankinds forlor uses, thou st pour
From theo their ears. Gods will devotes
Thio suds, and mio wait on thine.
How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use ?
A hope, to sing by gladly ? or a fine
Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse ?
9９ｌib?A shade, in which to sing--of palm or pine ?
A grave, on which to rest from singing ? Choose.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XVII: My Poet, Thou st Touch
My poet, thou st tou all the notes
God set between his After and Before,
And strike up and strike off the general roar
Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats
In a serene air purely. Antidotes
Of medicated musiswering for
Mankinds forlor uses, thou st pour
From theo their ears. Gods will devotes
Thio suds, and mio wait on thine.
How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use?
A hope, to sing by gladly? or a fine
Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse?
A shade, in which to sing--of palm or pine?
A grave, on which to rest from singing? Choose.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XVIII
I never gave a lock of hair away
To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,
Whiow upon my fihoughtfully,
I ring out to the full browh and say
Take it. My day of youth weerday;
My hair no longer bounds to my foots glee,
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree,
As girls do, any more: it only may
Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears,
Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside
Through sorrows trick. I thought the funeral-shears
Would take this first, but Love is justified,--
Take it thou,--finding pure, from all those years,
The kiss my mother left here when she died.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XVIII: I Never Gave a Lock of Hair
I never gave a lock of hair away
To a man, dearest, except this to thee,
Whiow upon my fihoughtfully,
I ring out to the full browh and say
Take it. My day of youth weerday;
My hair no longer bounds to my foots glee,
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree,
As girls do, any more: it only may
Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears,
Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside
Through sorrows trick. I thought the funeral-shears
Would take this first, but Love is justified,--
Take it thou,--finding pure, from all those years,
The kiss my mother left here when she died.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XIX
The souls Rialto hath its merdise;
I barter curl for curl upon that mart,
And from my ..poets forehead to my heart
Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,--
As purply black, as erst to Pindars eyes
The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart
The nine white Muse-brows. For this terpart, . . .
The bay-s shade, Beloved, I surmise,
Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black !
Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath,
I tie the shadows safe from gliding back,
And lay the gift where nothing hih;
Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack
No natural heat till mine grows cold ih.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XIX: The Souls Rialto
The souls Rialto hath its merdise;
I barter curl for curl upon that mart,
And from my poets forehead to my heart
Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,--
As purply black, as erst to Pindars eyes
The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart
The nine white Muse-brows. For this terpart,...
The bay-s shade, Belovèd, I surmise,
Still lingers on thy curl, it so black!
Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath,
I tie the shadows safe from gliding back,
And lay the gift where nothing hih;
Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack
No natural heat till mine grows cold ih.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XX
Beloved, my Beloved, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sat alone here in the snow
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
No moment at thy voice, but, link by link,
Went ting all my s as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand,--why, thus I drink
Of lifes great cup of wonder ! Wonderful,
o feel thee thrill the day ht
With personal act or speech,--nor ever cull
Some presce of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing ! Atheists are as dull,
Who ot guess Gods prese of sight.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XX: Belovèd, My Belovèd
Belovèd, my Belovèd, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sat alone here in the snow
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
No moment at thy voice, but, link by link
Went ting all my s as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand,--why, thus I drink
Of lifes great cup of wonder! Wonderful,
o feel thee thrill the day ht
With personal act or speech,--nor ever cull
Some presce of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull
Who ot guess Gods prese of sight.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet XXI-XXV
So XXI
Say ain, a once ain,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem a cuckoo-song, as thou dost treat it,
Remember, o the hill or plain,
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain
es the fresh Spring in all her green pleted.
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubts pain
Cry, Speak once more--thou lovest ! Who fear
Too many stars, though ea heaven shall roll,
Too many flowers, though each shall the year ?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll
The silver iterance !--only minding, Dear,
To love me also in sileh thy soul.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXI: Say ain
Say ain, a once ain,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem "a cuckoo-song,"as thou dost treat it,
Remember, o the hill or plain,
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain
es the fresh Spring in all her green pleted.
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubts pain
Cry, <i>Speak once more--thou lovest!</i> Who fear
Too many stars, though ea heaven shall roll,
Too many flowers, though each shall the year?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll
The silver iterance!--only minding, Dear,
To love me also in sileh thy soul.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXII
When our two souls stand up ered strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curved point,--what bitter wrong
the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here tented ? Think. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather oh, Beloved,--where the unfit
trarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, a
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXII: When Our Two Souls Stand Up
When our two souls stand up ered strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curvèd point,--what bitter wrong
the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here tehink. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather oh, Belovèd,--where the unfit
trarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, a
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXIII
Is it indeed s９9lｉb?o ? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine ?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
Because of grave-damps falling round my head ?
I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read
Thy thought so iter. I am thine--
But . . . so much to thee ? I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble ? Then my soul, instead
Of dreams of death, resumes lifes lower range.
Then, love me, Love ! look on me--breathe on me !
As brighter ladies do not t it strange,
For love, to give up acres and degree,
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exge
My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee !
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
So XXIII: Is It Indeed So?
Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
Because of grave-damps falling round my head?
I marvelled, my Belovèd, when I read
Thy thought so iter. I am thine--
But...so much to thee? I pour your wine
While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead
Of dreams of death, resumes lifes lower range.
Then, love me, Love! Look on me--breathe on me!
As brighter ladies do not t it strange,
For love, to give up acres and degree,
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exge
My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee!
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXIV
Let the worlds sharpness, like a clasping knife,
Shut in upon itself and do no harm
In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,
A us hear no sound of human strife
After the click of the shutting. Life to life--
I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm
Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife
Are weak to injure. Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Aloo heavenly dews that drop not fewer,
Growing straight, out of mans reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, make us poor.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXIV: Let the Worlds Sharpness
Let the worlds sharpness like a clasping knife
Shut in upon itself and do no harm
In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,
A us hear no sound of human strife
After the click of the shutting. Life to life -
I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm
Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife
A?re weak to injure. Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Aloo heavenly dews that drop not fewer;
Growing straight, out of mans reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, make us poor.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning So XXV
A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne
From year to year until I saw thy face,
And sorrow after sorrow took the place
Of all those natural joys as lightly worn
As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn
By a beati at daime. Hopes apace
Were ged to long despairs, till Gods own grace
Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn
My heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me bring
A drop adown thy calmly great
Deep being ! Fast it sih, as a thing
Which its own nature doth precipitate,
While thih close above it, mediating
Betwixt the stars and the unaplished fate.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXV: A Heavy Heart, Belovèd
A heavy heart, Belovèd, have I borne
From year to year until I saw thy face,
And sorrow after sorrow took the place
Of all those natural joys as lightly worn
As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn
By a beati at daime. Hopes apace
Were ged to long despairs, till Gods own grace
Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn
My heavy heart. Than thou didst bid me bring
A drop adown thy calmly great
Deep being! Fast it sih, as a thing
Which its own nature doth precipitate,
While thih close above it, mediating
Betwixt the stars and the unaplished fate.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet XXVI-XXX
So XXVI
I lived with visions for my pany
Instead of men and women, years ago,
And found them gees, nor thought to know
A sweefer music than they played to me.
But soorailing purple was not free
Of this worlds dust, their lutes did silent grow,
And I myself grew faint and blind below
Their vanishing eyes. Then THOU didst e--to be,
Beloved, what they seemed. Their shining fronts,
Their songs, their splendors (better, yet the same,
As river-water hallowed into fonts),
Met in thee, and from out thee overcame
My soul with satisfa of all wants:
Because Gods gifts put ma dreams to shame.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXVI: I Lived With Visions
I lived with visions for my pany
Instead of men and women, years ago,
And found them gees, nor thought to know
A sweeter music than they played to me.
But soorailing purple was not free
Of this worlds dust, their lutes did silent grow,
And I myself grew faint and blind below
Their vanishing eyes. Then thou didst e--to be,
Belovèd, what they seemed. Their shining fronts,
Their songs, their splendors (better, yet the same,
As river water hallowed into fonts),
Met in thee, and from out thee overcame
My soul with satisfa of all wants:
Because Gods gifts put ma dreams to shame.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXVII
My own Beloved, who hast lifted me
From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,
And, iwixt the languid ris, blown
A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully
Shines out again, as all the angels see,
Before thy saving kiss ! My own, my own,
Who camest to me when the world was gone,
And I who looked for only God, found thee !
I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad.
As one who stands in dewless asphodel
Looks backward oedious time he had
In the upper life,--so I, with bosom-swell,
Make witness, here, between the good and bad,
That Love, as strong as bbr>99lｉｂ?Death, retrieves as well.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXVII: My Dear Belovèd
My dear Belovèd, who hast lifted me
From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,
And, iwixt the languid ris, blown
A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully
Shines out again, as all the angels see,
Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own,
Who camest to me when the world was gone,
And I who looked for only God, found <i>thee!</i>
I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad.
As one who stands in dewless asphodel
Looks backward oedious time he had
In the upper life,--so I, with bosom-swell,
Make witness, here, between the good and bad,
That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXVIII
My letters ! all dead paper, mute and white !
Ahey seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
Ahem drop down on my ko-night.
This said,--he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To e and touch my hand . . . a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it !--this, . . . the papers light . . .
Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if Gods future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine--and so its ink has paled
With Iying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this . . . O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last !
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXVIII: My Letters
My letters-- all dead paper, mute and white!
Ahey seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
Ahem drop down on my ko-night,
This said,--he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To e and touch my hand...a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it!--this...the papers light...
Said, <i>Dear, I love thee;</i> and I sank and quailed
As if Gods future thundered on my past.
This said, <i>I am thi;/i>--and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this...O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning So XXIX
I think of thee !--my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there s nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it uood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better ! Rather, instantly
Rehy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs ahy trunk all bare,
Ahese bands of greenery whisphere thee
Drop heavily down,--burst, shattered, everywhere !
Because, in this deep joy to see ahee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee--I am too hee.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXIX: I Think of Thee
I think of thee!--my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee,as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon theres nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it uood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly
Rehy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs ahy trunk all bare,
Ahese bands of greenery whisphere thee
Drop heavily down,--burst, shattered, everywhere!
Because, in this deep joy to see ahee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee--I am too hee.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning So XXX
I see thine image through my tears to-night,
Ao-day I saw thee smiling. How
Refer the cause ?--Beloved, is it thou
Or I, who makes me sad ? The acolyte
Amid the ted joy and thankful rite
May so fall flat, with pale ie brow,
Oar-stair. I hear thy void vow,
Perplexed, uain, sihou art out of sight,
As he, in his swooning ears, the choirs Amen.
Beloved, dost thou love ? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when
Too vehement light dilated my ideal,
For my souls eyes ? Will that light e again,
As now these tears e--falling hot and real ?
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXX: I See Thine Image
I see thine image through my tears to-night,
Ao-day I saw thee smiling. How
Refer the cause?--Beloved, is it thou
Or I, who makes me sad? The acolyte
Amid the ted joy and thankful rite
May so fall flat, with pale ie brow,
Oar-stair. I hear thy void vow,
Perplexed, uain, sihou art out of sight,
As he, in his swooning ears, the choirs amen.
Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when
Too vehement light dilated my ideal,
For my souls eyes? Will that light e again,
As now these tears e--falling hot and real?
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet XXXI-XXXV
So XXXI
Thou est ! all is said without a word.
I sit beh thy looks, as children do
In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred
Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred
In that last doubt ! a I ot rue
The sin most, but the occasion--that we two
Should for a moment stand unministered
By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close,
Thou dovelike help ! and, when my fears would rise,
With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
Brood down with thy divine sufficies
These thoughts which tremble whe of those,
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXXI: Thou est!
Thou est! all is said without a word.
I sit beh thy looks, as children do
In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred
Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred
In that last doubt! a I ot rue
The sin most, but the occasion--that we two
Should for a moment stand unministered
By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close,
Thou dovelike help! and, when my fears would rise,
With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
Brood down with thy divine sufficies
These thoughts which tremble whe of those,
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXXII
The first time that the sun rose on thih
To love me, I looked forward to the moon
To sla all those bonds which seemed too soon
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.
Quick-lovis, I thought, may quickly loathe;
And, looking on myself, I seemed not one
For such mans love !--more like an out-of-tune
Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth
To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste,
Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.
I did n myself so, but I placed
A wrong on thee. For perfect strains may float
h master-hands, from instruments defaced,--
And great souls, at oroke, may do and doat.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXXII: The First Time
The first time that the sun rose on thih
To love me, I looked forward to the moon
To sla all those bonds which seemed too soon
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.
Quick-lovis, I thought, may quickly loathe;
And, looking on myself, I seemed not one
For such mans love!--more like an out-of-tune
Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth
To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste,
Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.
I did n myself so, but I placed
A wrong on thee. For perfect strains may float
h master-hands, from instruments defaced,--
And great souls, at oroke, may do and doat.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXXIII
Yes, call me by my pet-name ! let me hear
The name I used to run at, when a child,
From i play, and leave the cowslips piled,
To glance up in some face that proved me dear
With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear
Fond voices which, being drawn and reciled
Into the music of Heavens undefiled,
Call me no longer. Silen the bier,
While I call God--call God !--So let thy mouth
Be heir to those who are now exanimate.
Gather the north flowers to plete the south,
And catch the early love up ie.
Yes, call me by that name,--and I, in truth,
With the same heart, will answer and not wait.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXXIII: Yes, Call Me by My Pet-Name!
Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
The name I used to run at, when a child,
From i play, and leave the cowslips piled,
To glance up in some face that proved me dear
With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear
Fond voices which, being drawn and reciled
Into the music of Heavens undefiled,
Call me no longer. Silen the bier,
While I call God--call God!--So let thy mouth
Be heir to those who are now exanimate.
Gather the north flowers to plete the south,
And catch the early love up ie.
Yes, call me by that name,--and I, in truth,
With the same heart, will answer and not wait.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXXIV
With the same heart, I said, Ill ahee
As those, when thou shalt call me by my name--
Lo, the vain promise ! is the same, the same,
Perplexed and ruffled by lifes strategy ?
When called before, I told how hastily
I dropped my flowers or brake off from a game,
To run and answer with the smile that came
At play last moment, a on with me
Through my obedience. When I answer now,
I drop a grave thought, break from solitude;
Yet still my heart goes to thee--ponder how--
Not as to a single good, but all my good !
Lay thy hand on it, best one, and allow
That no childs foot could run fast as this blood.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXXIV: With the Same Heart藏书网
With the same heart, I said, Ill ahee
As those, when thou shalt call me by my name--
Lo, the vain promise! is the same, the same,
Perplexed and ruffled by lifes strategy?
When called before, I told how hastily
I dropped my. flowers or brake off from a game,
To run and answer with the smile that came
At play last moment, a on with me
Through my obedience. When I answer now,
I drop a grave thought, break from solitude;
Yet still my heart goes to thee--ponder how--
Not as to a single good, but all my good!
Lay thy hand on it, best one, and allow
That no childs foot could run as fast as this blood.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning So XXXV
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exge
And be all to me ? Shall I never miss
Home-talk and blessing and the on kiss
That es to ea turn, nor t it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors, another home than this ?
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
Filled by dead eyes too teo know ge ?
That s hardest. If to quer love, has tried,
To quer grief, tries more, as all things prove;
Frief indeed is love and grief beside.
Alas, I have grieved sol am hard to love.
Yet love me--wilt thou ? Open thi wide,
And fold withi wings of thy dove.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXXV: If I Leave All for Thee
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exge
And be all to me?9９lｉｂ?? Shall I never miss
Home-talk and blessings and the on kiss
That es to ea turn, nor t it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors, another home than this?
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
Filled by dead eyes too teo know ge?
Thats hardest. If to quer love, has tried,
To quer grief, tries more, as all things prove;
Frief indeed is love and grief beside.
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love.
Yet love me--wilt thou? Open thi wide,
And fold withi wings of thy dove.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet XXXVI-XXXIX
So XXXVI
Whe first and loved, I did not build
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean
To last, a love set pendulous between
Sorrow and sorrow ? Nay, I rather thrilled,
Distrusting every light that seemed to gild
The onath, and feared to overlean
A finger even. And, though I have grown serene
And strong sihen, I think that God has willed
A still renewable fear . . . O love, O troth . . .
Lest these enclasped hands should never hold,
This mutual kiss drop dowween us both
As an uhing, ohe lips being cold.
And Love, be false ! if he, to keep oh,
Must lose one joy, by his lifes star foretold.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXXVI: Whe First
Whe first and loved, I did not build
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean
To last, a love set pendulous between
Sorrow and sorrow? Nay, I rather thrilled,
Distrusting every light that seemed to gild
The onath, and feared to overlean
A finger even. And, though I have grown serene
And strong sihen, I think that God has willed
A still renewable fear ... O love, O troth ...
Lest these enclasped hands should never hold,
This mutual kiss drop dowween us both
As an uhing, ohe lips being cold.
And Love, be false! if he, to keep oh,
Must lose one joy, by his lifes star foretold.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXXVII
Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make,
Of all that strong divineness which I know
For thine and thee, an image only so
Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and break.
It is that distant years which did not take
Thy sovranty, recoiling with a blow,
Have forced my swimming brain to undergo
Their doubt and dread, and blindly to forsake
Thy purity of likeness and distort
Thy worthiest love to a worthless terfeit:
As if a shipwrecked Pagan, safe in port,
His guardian sea-god to orate,
Should set a sculptured porpoise, gills a-snort
And vibrant tail, withiemple-gate.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXXVII: Pardon, Oh, Pardon
Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make,
Of all that strong divineness which I know
For thine and thee, an image only so
Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and break.
It is that distant years which did not take
Thy sovranty, recoiling with a blow,
Have forced my swimming brain to undergo
Their doubt and dread, and blindly to forsake
Thy purity of likeness and distort
Thy worthiest love to a worthless terfeit:
As if a shipwrecked Pagan, safe in port,
His guardian sea-god to orate,
Should set a sculptured porpoise, gills a-snort
And vibrant tail, withiemple gate.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXXVIII
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever si grew more and white,
Slow treetings, quick with its Oh, list,
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plaio my sight,
Than that first kiss. The sed passed i
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed !
That was the chrism of love, which loves own ,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
I have been proud and said, My love, my own.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXXVIII: First Time He Kissed Me
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The finger of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever si grew more and white,
Slow treetings, quick with its "Oh, list,"
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plaio my sight,
Than that first kiss. The sed passed i
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!
That was the chrism of love, which loves own ,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
I have been proud and said, "My love, my own."
Elizabeth Barrett Browning So XXXIX
Because thou hast the power and ownst the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me
(Against which years have beat thus blangly
With their rains), and behold my souls true face,
The dim and weary witness of l.９９lｉb.ifes race,--
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same souls distrag lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens,--because nor sin nor woe,
Nods infli, nor deaths neighborhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,--
Nothing repels thee, . . .藏书网 Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good !
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSo XXXIX: Because Thou Hast the Power
Because thou hast the power and ownst the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me
(Against which years have beat thus blangly
With their rains), and behold my souls true face,
The dim and weary witness of lifes race,
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same souls distrag lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens,--because nor sin nor woe,
Nods infli, nor deaths neighbourhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all of which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,--
Nothing repels thee,...Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnets from the Portuguese i-v
Sos from the Puese i
I THOUGHT once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wishd-for years,
Who eae in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antiElizabeth Barrett BrowningSos from the Puese ii
UNLIKE are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
Our ministering two angels look surprise
On one another, as they strike athwart
Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art
A guest for queens to social pageantries,
With gages from a hundred brighter eyes
Than tears even make mio play thy part
Of chief musi. What hast thou to do
With looking from the lattice-lights at me--
A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through
The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree?
The chrism is on thine head--on mihe dew--
Ah must dig the level where these agree.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSos from the Puese iii
GO from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upohreshold of my door
Of individual life I shall and
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore--
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSos from the Puese iv
IF thou must love me, let it be for naught
Except for loves sake only. Do not say,
I love her for her smile--her look--her way
Of speakily,--for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, aes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day--
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be ged, or ge for thee--and love, sht,
May be unwrought so. her love me for
Thine own dear pitys wiping my cheeks dry:
A creature might fet to weep, who bore
Thy fort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for loves sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through loves eternity.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSos from the Puese v
WHEN our two souls stand up ered strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curving point,--what bitter wrong
the earth do us, that we should not long
Be here tehink! In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us, and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather oh, Beloved--where the unfit
trarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rou..nding it.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Souls Expression, The
Souls Expression, The
With stammering lips and insuffit sound
I strive and struggle to deliver right
That musiy nature, day and night
With dream and thought and feeling interwound
And inly answering all the senses r>ound
With octaves of a mystic depth and height
Which step out grandly to the infinite
From the dark edges of the sensual ground.
This song of soul I struggle to outbear
Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole,
And utter all myself into the air:
But if I did it,--as the thunder-roll
Breaks its own cloud, my flesh would perish there,
Before that dread apocalypse of soul.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Substitution
Substitution>
WHEN some beloved voice that was to you
Both sound and sweetness, faileth su.?ddenly,
And silence, against which you dare not cry,
Aches round you like a strong d..isease and new--
What hope ? what help ? what music will undo
That sileo your sense ? Not friendships sigh,
Not reasons subtle t; not melody
Of viols, nor of pipes that Faunus blew;
Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales
Whose hearts leap upward through the cypress-trees
To the clear moon; nor yet the spheric laws
Self-ted, nor the angels sweet All hails,
Met in the smile of God: nay, none of these.
Speak THOU, ?９9ｌｉｂ?availing Christ !--and fill this pause.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Tears
Tears
THANK God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
Mrief than ye weep for. That is we?ll--
That is light grieving ! lighter, none befell
Since Adam forfeited the primal lot.
Tears ! what are tears ? The babe weeps in its cot,
The mother singing, at her marriage-bell
The bride weeps, and before the oracle
Of high-faned hills the poet has fot
Such moisture on his cheeks.藏书网 Thank God frace,
Ye who >eep only ! If, as some have done,
Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place
And touch but tombs,--look up I those tears will run
Soon in long rivers down the lifted face,
And leave the vision clear for stars and sun
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Autumn
The Autumn
Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them --
The summer flowers depart --
Sit still -- as all transformd to stone,
Except your musi.
How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beh the freshening wind.
Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.
Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We ot bear its visitings,
When ge is on the heart.
Gay words as may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!
The dearest hands that clasp our hands, --
Their presence may be oer;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may e no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Whice refreshd our mind,
Shall e -- as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.
Hear not the wind -- view not the woods;
Look out oer vale and hill-
In spring, the sky encircled them --
The sky is round them still.
e autumns scathe -- e winters cold --
e ge -- and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
eer be desolate.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Best Thing in the World
The Best Thing in the World
Whats the best thing in the world?
June-rose, by May-dew impearled;
Sweet south-wind, that me>ans no rain;
Truth, not cruel to a friend;
Pleasure, not in haste to end;
Beauty, not self-decked and curled
Till its pri..de is over-plain;
Love, when, so, youre loved again.
Whats the best thing in the world?
--Something out of it, I think.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning９9lib.
The Cry Of The Children
The Cry Of The Children
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow es with years?
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers---
And that ot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows;
The young birds are chirping in the ;
The young falaying with the shadows;
The young flowers are blowing toward the west---
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly!---
They are weeping in the playtime of the others
In the try of the free.
Do you question the young children in the sorrow,
Why their tears are falling so?---
The old man may weep for his to-morrow
Which is lost in Long.. Ago---
The old tree is leafless in the forest---
The old year is ending in the frost---
The old wound, if stri, is the sorest---
The old hope is hardest to be lost:
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
Do you ask them why they stand
Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers,
In our happy Fatherland?
They look up with their pale and sunken faces,
And their looks are sad to see,
For the mans grief abhorrent, draresses
Down the cheeks of infancy---
Your old earth, they say, is very dreary;
Our you, they say, are very weak!
Few paces have we take are weary?
rave-rest is very far to seek.
Ask the old why they weep, and not the children,
For the outside earth is cold,---
And we young oand without, in our bewildering,
And the graves are for the old.
True, say the young children, it may happen
That we die before our time.
Little Alice died last year---the grave is shapen
Like a snowball, in the rime.
We looked into the pit prepared to take her---
Was no room for any work in the close clay:
From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her
g, Get up, little Alice! it is day.
If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower,
With your ear down, little Aliever cries!---
Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her,
For the smile has time frowing in her eyes---
And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in
The shroud, by the kirk-chime!
It is good when it happens, say the children,
That we die before our time.
Alas, alas, the children! they are seeking
Death in life, as best to have!
They are binding up their hearts away from breaking,
With a cerement from the grave.
Go out, children, from the mine and from the city---
Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do---
Pluck your handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty---
Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through!
But they answer, Are your cowslips of the meadows
Like our weeds ahe mine?
Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows,
From your pleasures fair and fine!
For oh, say the children, we are weary,
And we ot run or leap---
If we cared for any meadows, it were merely
To drop down in them and sleep.
Our kremble sorely iooping---
We fall upon our faces, trying to go;
And, underh our heavy eyelids drooping,
The reddest flower would look as pale as snow.
For, all day, we drag our burden tiring,
Through the coal-dark, underground---
Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron
In the fact>ies, round and round.
For, all day, the wheels are droning, turning,---
Their wind es in our faces,---
Till our hearts turn,---our head, with pulses burning,
And the walls turn in their places---
Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling---
Turns the long light that droppeth down the wall---
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling---
All are turning, all the day, ah all.---
And, all day, the iron wheels are droning;
And sometimes we could pray,
O ye wheels, (breaking out in a mad moaning)
Stop! be silent for to-day!
Ay! be silent! Let them hear each other breathing
For a moment, mouth to mouth---
Let them touch each others hands, in a fresh wreathing
Of their tender human youth!
Let them feel that this etallic motion
Is not all the life God fashions or reveals---
Let them prove their inward souls against the notion
That they live in you, os under you, O wheels!---
Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward,
Grinding life down from its mark;
And the childrens souls, which God is calling sunward,
Spin on blindly in the dark.
Now, tell the poor young children, O my brothers,
To look up to Him and pray---
So the blessed One, who blesseth all the others,
Will bless them another day.
They answer, Who is God that He should hear us,
White the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred?
When we sob aloud, the humaures near us
Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word!
And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding)
Strangers speaking at the door:
Is it likely God, with angels singing round Him,
Hear?s our weeping any more?
Two words, indeed, of praying we remember,
And at midnights hour of harm,---
Our Father, looking upward in the chamber,
We say softly for a charm.
We know no other words except Our Father,
Ahink that, in some pause of angels song,
God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather,
And hold both within His right hand which is strong.
Our Father! If He heard us, He would surely
(For they call Him good and mild)
Answer, smiling doweep world very purely,
e a with me, my child.
But no! say the children, weeping faster,
He is speechless as a stone;
And they tell us, of His image is the master
Who ands us to work on.
Go to! say the children,---Up in Heaven,
Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find.
Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving---
We look up fod, but tears have made us blind.
Do you hear the children weeping and disproving,
O my brothers, what ye preach?
Fods possible is taught by His worlds loving---
And the children doubt of each.
And well may the children weep b.efore you;
They are weary ere they run;
They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory
Which is brighter than the sun:
They know the grief of man, but not the wisdom;
They sink in mans despair, without its calm---
Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom,---
Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm,---
Are worn, as if with age, yet urievingly
No dear remembrance keep,---
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly:
Let them weep! let them weep!
They look up, with their pale and sunken faces,
And their look is dread to see,
For they mind you of their angels in their places,
With eyes meant for Deity;---
How long, they say, how long, O cruel nation,
Will you stand, to move the world, on a childs heart,
Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation,
And tread onward to your throne amid the mart?
Our blood splashes upward, O our tyrants,
And your purple shows yo}r path;
But the childs sob curseth deeper in the silence
Tharong man in his wrath!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Deserted Garden
The Deserted Garden
I mind me in the days departed,
How often underh thbbr>e sun
With childish bounds I used to run
To a garden lo?ed.
The beds and walks were vanished quite;
And wheresoeer had struck the spade,
The gree grasses Nature laid
To sanctify her right.
I called the place my wilderness,
For no oered there but I;
The sheep looked in, the grass to espy,
And passed it heless.
The trees were interwoven wild,
And spread their boughs enough about
To keep both sheep and shepherd out,
But not a happy child.
Adventurous joy it was for me!
I crept beh the boughs, and found
A circle smooth of mossy ground
Beh a poplar tree.
Old garden rose-trees hedged it in,
Bedropt with roses waxen-white
Well satisfied with dew and light
And careless to be seen.
Long years ago it might befall,
When all the garden flowers were trim,
The grave old gardener prided him
Ohe most of all.
Some lady, stately overmuch,
Here moving with a silken noise,
Has blushed beside them at the voice
That likened her to such.
And these, to make a diadem,
She often may have plucked and twined,
Half-smiling as it came to mind
That few would look at them.
Oh, little thought that lady proud,
A child would watch her fair white rose,
When buried lay her whiter brows,
And silk was ged for shroud!
Nor thought that gardener, (full of ss
For men unlearned and simple phrase,)
A child would bring it all its praise
By creeping through the thorns!
To me upon my low moss seat,
Though never a dream the roses sent
Of sce or loves pliment,
I ween they smelt as sweet.
It did not move my grief to see
The trace of human step departed:
Because the garden was deserted,
The blither plae!
Friends, blame me not! a narro99ｌｉｂ.w ken
Has childhood twixt the sun and sward;
We draw the moral afterward,
We feel the gladhen.
And gladdest hours for me did glide
In sile the rose-tree wall:
A thrush made gladness musical
Upoher side.
Nor he nor I did eer ine
To peck or pluck the blossoms white;
How should I know but roses might
Lead lives as glad as mine?
To make my hermit-home plete,
I brought dear water from the spring
Praised in its own low murmuring,
And cresses glossy wet.
And so, I thought, my likeness grew
(Without the melancholy tale)
To Gentle Hermit of the Dale,
And Angelina too.
For oft I read within my nook
Such miories; till the breeze
Made sounds poeti the trees,
And then I shut the book.
If I shut this wherein I write
I hear no more the wind athwart
Those trees, nor feel that childish heart
Delighting in delight.
My childhood from my life is parted,
My footstep from the moss which drew
Its fairy circle round: anew
The garden is deserted.
Ahrush may there rehearse
The madrigals which sweetest are;
No more for me! myself afar
Do sing a sadder verse.
Ah me, ah me! whe I lay
In that childs- so greenly wrought,
I laughed unto myself and thought
The time will pass away.
And still I laughed, and did not fear
But that, wheneer ast away
The childish time, some happier play
My womanhood would cheer.
I khe time would pass away,
A, beside the rose-tree wall,
Dear God, how seldom, if at all,
Did I look up to pray!
The time is past; and now that grows
The cypress high among the trees,
And I behold white sepulchres
As well as the white rose, --
When graver, meeker thoughts are given,
And I have learnt to lift my face,
Reminded how earths gree place
The color draws from heaven, --
It something saith for earthly pain,
But more for Heavenly promise free,
That I who was, would shrink to be
That happy child again.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The House Of Clouds
The House Of Clouds
I would build a cloudy House
For my thoughts to live in;
When for earth too fancy-loose
And too low for Heaven!
Hush! I talk my dream aloud---
I build it bright to see,---
I build it on the moonlit cloud,
To which I looked with thee.
Cloud-walls of the ms grey,
Faced with amber n,---
ed with crimson cupola
From a su solemn!
May mists, for the casements, fetch,
Pale and glimmering;
With a sunbeam hid in each,
And a smell of spring.
Build the entrance high and proud,
Darkening and then brightening,---
If a riven thunder-cloud,
Veined by the lightning.
Use oh an iris-stain,
For the door within;
Turning to a sound like rain,
As I enter in.
Build a spacious hall thereby:
Boldly, never fearing.
Use tbbr>he blue place of the sky,
Which the wind is clearing;
Branched with corridors sublime,
Flecked with win?ding stairs---
Such as children wish to climb,
Following their own pra９９lｉｂ.yers.
Iest of the house,
I will have my chamber:
Sile the door shall use
Evenings light of amber,
Solemnising every mood,
Softemng in degree,---
Turning sadness into good,
As I turn the key.
Be my chamber tapestried
With the showers of summer,
Close, but soundless,---glorified
When the sunbeams e here;
Wandering harpers, harping on
Waters stringed for such,---
Drawing colours, for a tune,
With a vibrant touch.
Bring a shadow green and still
From the chestnut forest,
Bring a purple from the hill,
When the heat is sorest;
Spread them out f..rom wall to wall,
Carpet-wove around,---
Whereupon the foot shall fall
In light instead of sound.
Bring the fantasque cloudlets home
From the noontide zenith
Ranged, for sculptures, round the room,---
Named as Fancy weeh:
Some be Junos, without eyes;
Naiads, without sources
Some be birds of paradise,---
Some, Olympian horses.
Bring the dews the birds shake off,
Waking in the hedges,---
Those too, perfumed for a proof,
From the lilies edges:
From lands field and moor,
Bring them calm and white in;
Wheo form a mirror pure,
For Loves self-delighting.
Bring a grey cloud from the east,
Where the lark is singing;
Something of the song at least,
Unlost in the bringing:
That shall be a m chair,
Poet-dream may sit in,
When it leans out on the air,
Unrhymed and unwritten.
Bring the red cloud from the sun
While he sih, catch it.
That shall be a couch,---with one
Sidelong star to watch it,---
Fit for poets fihought,
At the curfew-sounding,--- ;
Things unseen being nearer brought
Than the seen, around him.
Poets thought,----not poets sigh!
Las, they e together!
Cloudy walls divide and fly,
As in April weather!
Cupola and n proud,
Structure bright to see---
Gone---except that moonlit cloud,
To which I looked with thee!
Let them! Wipe such visionings
From the Fancys cartel---
Love secures some fairer things
Dowered with his immortal.
The sun may darken,---heaven be bowed---
But still, unged shall be,---
Here in my soul,---that moonlit cloud,
To which I looked with THEE!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Ladys Yes
The Ladys Yes?９９ｌib.
Yes, I answered you last night;
No, this m, Sir, I say.
Colours seen by dlelight,
Will not look the same by day.
When the viols played their best,
Lamps above, and laughs below---
Love me sounded like a jest,
Fit for Yes or fit for No.
Call me false, or call me free---
Vow, whatever light may shine,
No man on your face shall see
Any grief for ge on mine.
Yet the sin is on us both---
Time to dance is not to woo---
Wht makes fickle troth---
S of me recoils on you.
Learn to win a ladys faith
Nobly, as the thing is high;
Bravely, as for life ah---
With a loyal gravity.
Lead her from the festive boards,
Poio the starry skies,
Guard her, by your truthful words,
Pure from courtships flatteries.
By your truth she shall be true---
Ever true, as wives of yore---
And her Yes, once said to you,
SHALL be Yes for evermore.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Ladys Yes.
The Ladys Yes.
" Yes !" I answered you last night ;
" N?o !" this m, Sir, I say !
Colours, seen by dle-light,
Will not look the same by day.
Wheabors played their best,
Lamps above, and laughs below --
Love me sounded like a jest,
Fit for Yes or fit for No !
Call me false, or call me free --
Vow, whatever light may shine,
No man on your face shall see
Any grief for ge on mine.
Yet the sin is on us both --
Time to dance is not to woo --
Wht makes fickle troth --
S of me recoils on you !
Learn to win a ladys faith
Nobly, as the thing is high ;
Bravely, as for life ah --
With a loyal gravity.
Lead her from the festive boards,
Poio the starry skies,
Guard her, b?99lｉｂ.y your truthful words,
Pure from courtships flatteries.
By your truth she shall be tru?９９ｌｉb?t>e --
Ever true, as wives of yore --
And her Yes, once said to you,
SHALL be Yes for evermore.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers
The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers
The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods, against a stormy sky,
Their giant braost;
And the heavy night hung dark
The hills and water oer,
When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.
Not as the queror es,
They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;
Not as the flying e,
In silend in fear, -
They shook the depths of the deserts gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim wo
To the anthem of the free.
The o-eagle soared
From his by the white waves foam,
And the rog pines of the forest roared -
This was their wele home!
There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band:
Why had they e to wither there,
Away from their childhoods land?
There was womans fearless eye,
Lit by her deep loves truth;
There was manhoods brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.
What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of the seas? the spoils of war? -
They sought a faiths pure shrine!
Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod!
They have left unstained what there they ..t>found -
Freedom to worship God!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Look
The Look
?he Saviour looked oer. Ay, no word,
ure of reproach; the Heavens serene
Though heavy with armed justice, did not lean
Their thuhat way: the forsaken Lord
Looked only, oraitor. None record
What that look was, none guess; for those who have seen
Wronged lovers loving through a death-pang keen,
Or pale-cheeked martyrs smiling to a sword,
Have missed Jehovah at the judgment-call.
Aer, from the height of blasphemy--
I never k> this man --did quail and fall
As knowing straight THAT GOD; and turned free
A out speechless from the face of all
And filled the silenc, weeping bitterly.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Meaning Of The Look
The Meaning Of The Look
I think that look of Christ might seem to say--
Thou Peter ! art thou then a on stone
Which I at last must break my heart upon
For all Gods charge to his high angels may
Guard my foot better ? Did I yesterdaybbr>
Wash thy feet, my beloved, that they should run
Q藏书网uick to deny me h the m sun ?
And do thy kisses, like the r?９9ｌｉb?est, betray ?
The cock crows coldly.--GO, and ma
A late trition, but no bootless fear !
For when thy final need is .dreariest,
Thou shalt not be denied, as I am here;
My voice to God and angels shall attest,
Because I KNOW this ma him be clear.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Poet And The Bird
The Poet And The Bird
Said a people to a poet--- Go out from among us straightway!
While we are thinkihly things, thou si of divine.
Theres a little fair brown nightingale, who, sitting ieways
Makes fitter music to our e?ars than any song of thine!
The poet went out weeping---the nightingale eteased ting;
Now, wherefore, O thou nightingale, is all thy ?9９lｉｂ.sweetness done?
I ot sing my earthly things, the heavenly poet wanting,
Whose highest harmony includes the lowest under sun.
The poet went out weeping,---and died abroad, bereft there---
The bird flew to his g?99lｉｂ?rave and died, amid a thousand wails:---
And, when I last came by the place, I swear the music left there
Was only of the poets song, and not the nightingales.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Prisoner
The Prisoner
I t the dismal time by months and years
Since last I felt the green sward under foot,
And the great breath of all things summer-
Met mine upon my lips. h appears
As strao me as dreams of distant spheres
Or thoughts of Heaven we weep at. Natures lute
Sounds on, behind this door so closely shut,
A strange wild music to the prisoners ears,
Dilated by the distaill the brain
Grows dim with fancies which it feels too
While ever, with a visionary pain,
Past the precluded senses, sweep and Rhine
Streams, forests, glades, and many a golden train
Of sunlit hills transfigured to Divine.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Runaway Slave at Pilgrims Point
The Runaway Slave at Pilgrims Point
I.
I stand on the mark beside the shore
Of the first white pilgrims bended knee,
Where exile turo aor,
And God was thanked for liberty.
I have run through the night, my skin is as dark,
I bend my knee down on this mark . . .
I look on the sky and the sea.
II.
O pilgrim-souls, I speak to you!
I see you e out proud and slow
From the land of the spirits pale as dew. . .
And round me and round me ye go!
O pilgrims, I have gasped and run
All night long from the whips of one
Who in your names works sin and woe.
III.
And thus I thought that I would e
And kneel here where I k before,
And feel your souls around me hum
In uoo the os roar;
And lift my black face, my black hand,
Here, in your o curse this land
Ye blessed in freedoms evermore.
IV.
I am black, I am black;
A God made me, they say.
But if He dibbr>d so, smiling back
He must have cast His work away
Uhe feet of His white creatures,
With a look of s,--that the dusky features
Might be trodden again to clay.
V.
A He has made dark things
To be glad and merry as light.
Theres a little dark bird sits and sings;
Theres a dark stream ripples out of sight;
And the dark frogs t in the safe morass,
And the sweetest stars are made to pass
Oer the face of the darkest night.
VI.
But we who are dark, we are dark!
Ah, God, we have no stars!
About our souls in care and cark
Our blaess shuts like prison bars:
The poor souls crouch so far behind,
That never a fort they find
By reag through the prison-bars.
VII.
Indeed, we live beh the sky, . . .
That great smooth Hand of God, stretched out
On all His children fatherly,
To bless them from the fear and doubt,
Which would be, if, from this low place,
All operaight up to His face
Into the graernity.
VIII.
And still Gods sunshine and His fr９９lｉb?,
They make us hot, they make us cold,
As if we were not blad lost:
And the beasts and birds, in wood and fold,
Do fear and take us for very men!
Could the weep-poor-will or the cat of the glen
Look into my eyes and be bold?
IX.
I am black, I am black!--
But, once, I laughed in girlish glee;
For one of my colour stood irack
Where the drivers drove, and looked at me--
And tender and full was the look he gave:
Could a slave look so at another slave?--
I look at the sky and the sea.
X.
And from that hour our spirits grew
As free as if unsold, unbought:
Oh, strong enough, since we were two
To quer the world, we thought!
The drivers drove us day by day;
We did not mind, we went one way,
And er a liberty sought.
XI.
In the sunny grouween the es,
He said "I love you" as he passed:
When the shingle-r sharp with the rains,
I heard how he vowed it fast:
While others shook, he smiled i
As he carved me a bowl of the cout,
Through the roar of the hurries.
XII.
I sang his name instead of a song;
Over and over I sang his name--
Upward and downward I drew it along
My various he same, the same!
I sang it low, that the slave-girls near
Might never guess from aught they could hear,
It was only a name.
XIII.
I look on the sky and the sea--
We were two to love, and two to pray,--
Yes, two, O God, who cried to Thee,
Though nothing didst Thou say.
Coldly Thou satst behind the sun!
And now I cry who am but one,
How wilt Thou speak to-day?--
XIV.
We were black, we were black!
We had no claim to love and bliss:
What marvel, if each turo lack?
They wrung my cold hands out of his,--
They dragged him . . . where ? . . . I crawled to touch
His bloods mark in the dust! . . . not much,
Ye pilgrim-souls, . . . though plain as this!
XV.
Wrong, followed by a deeper wrong!
Mere griefs too good for such as I.
So the white men brought the shame ere long
Tle the sob of my agony.
They would not leave me for my dull
Wet eyes!--it was too merciful
To let me weep pure tears and die.
XVI.
I am black, I am black!--
I wore a child upon my breast
An amulet that hung too slack,
And, in my u, could not rest:
Thus we went moaning, child and mother,
Oo another, oo another,
Until all ended for the best:
XVII.
For hark ! I will tell you low . . . Iow . . .
I am black, you see,--
And the babe who lay on my bosom so,
Was far too white . . . too white for me;
As white as the ladies who sed to pray
Beside me at church but yesterday;
Though my tears had washed a play knee.
XVIII.
My own, own child! I could not bear
To look in his face, it was so white.
I covered him up with a kerchief there;
I covered his fa close and tight:
And he moaned and struggled, as well might be,
For the white child wanted his liberty--
Ha, ha! he wanted his master right.
XIX.
He moaned a with his head a,
His little feet that never grew--
He struck them out, as it was meet,
Against my heart to break it through.
I might have sung and made him mild--
But I dared not sing to the white-faced child
The only song I knew.
XX.
I pulled the kerchief very close:
He could not see the sun, I swear,
More, then, alive, than now he does
From between the roots of the mango . . . where
. . . I know where. Close! a child and mother
D to look at one another,
When one is blad one is fair.
XXI.
Why, in that single glance I had
Of my childs face, . . . I tell you all,
I saw a look that made me mad . . .
The masters look, that used to fall
On my soul like his lash . . . or worse!
And so, to save it from my curse,
I twisted it round in my shawl.
XXII.
And he moaned and trembled from foot to head,
He shivered from head to foot;
Till, after a time, he lay instead
Too suddenly still and mute.
I felt, beside, a stiffening cold, . . .
I dared to lift up just a fold . . .
As in lifting a leaf of the mango-fruit.
XXIII.
But my fruit . . . ha, ha!--there, had been
(I laugh to think ont at this hour! . . .)
Your fine white angels, who have seen
he secret of Gods power, . . .
And plucked my fruit to make them wine,
And sucked the soul of that child of mine,
As the humming-bird sucks the soul of the flower.
XXIV.
Ha, ha, for the trick of the angels white!
They freed the white childs spirit so.
I said not a word, but, day and night,
I carried the body to and fro;
And it lay on my heart like a stone . . . as chill.
--The sun may shi as much as he will:
I am cold, though it happened a month ago.
XXV.
From the white mans house, and the black mans hut,
I carried the little body on,
The forests arms did round us shut,
And silehrough the trees did run:
They asked no question as I went,--
They stood too high for astonishment,--
They could see God sit on His throne.
XXVI.
My little body, kerchiefed fast,
I bore it on through the forest . . . on:
And when I felt it was tired at last,
I scooped a hole beh the moon.
Through the forest-tops the angels far,
With a white sharp finger from every star,
Did point and mock at what was done.
XXVII.
Yet when it was all done aright, . . .
Earth, twixt me and my baby, strewed,
All, ged to black earth, . . . nothing white, . . .
A dark child in the dark,--ensued
Some fort, and my heart grew young:
I sate down smiling there and sung
The song I learnt in my maidenhood.
XXVIII.
And thus ere reciled,
The white child and black mother, thus:
For, as I sang it, soft and wild
The same song, more melodious,
Rose from the grave whereon I sate!
It was the dead child singing that,
To join the souls of both of us.
XXIX.
I look on the sea and the sky!
Where the pilgrims ships first anchored lay,
The free sun rideth gloriously;
But the pilgrim-ghosts have slid away
Through the earliest streaks of the morn.
My face is black, but it glares with a s
Which they dare not meet by day.
XXX.
Ah!--in their stead, their hunter sons!
Ah, ah! they are ohey hunt in a ring--
Keep off! I brave you all at once--
I throw off your eyes like shat sting!
You have killed the black eagle at , I think:
Did you and still in your triumph, and shrink
From the stroke of her wounded wing?
XXXI.
(Man, drop that stone you dared to lift!--)
I wish you, who stand there five a-breast,
Each, for his own wifes joy and gift,
A little corpse as safely at rest
As mine in the mangos!--Yes, but she
May keep live babies on her knee,
And sing the song she liketh best.
XXXll.
I am not mad: I am black.
I see you staring in my face--
I know you, staring, shrinking back--
Ye are born of the Washington-race:
And this land is the free America:
And this mark on my wrist . . . (I prove what I say)
Ropes tied me up here to the flogging-place.
XXXIII.
You think I shrieked then? Not a sound!
I hung, as a gourd hangs in the sun.
I only cursed them all around,
As softly as I might have done
My very own child!--From these sands
Up to the mountains, lift your hands,
O slaves, and end what I begun!
XXXIV.
Whips, curses; these must ahose!
For in this UNION, you have set
Two kinds of men in adverse rows,
Each loathing each: and all fet
The seven wounds in Christs body fair;
While HE sees gaping everywhere
Our tless wounds that pay .
XXXV.
Our wounds are different. Your white men
Are, after all, not gods indeed,
Nor able to make Christs again
Do good with bleeding. We who bleed . . .
(Stand off!) we help not in our loss!
We are too heavy for our cross,
And fall and crush you and your seed.
XXXVI.
I fall, I swoon! I look at the sky:
The clouds are breaking on my brain;
I am floated along, as if I should die
Of libertys exquisite pain--
In the name of the white child, waiting for me
In the death-dark where we may kiss and agree,
White men, I leave you all curse-free
In my brokes disdain!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Seraph and Poet
The Seraph and Poet藏书网
THE seraph sings before the ma
God-One, and in the burning of the Seven,
And with the full life of mate
Heavih him like a mothers
Warm with her first-borns slumber in that
The poet sings upon the earth grave-riven,
Before the naughty world, soon self-fiven
Fing him,--and in the darkness prest
From his own soul by worldly weights.
Even so,
Sing, seraph with the glory !? heaven is high;
Sbbr>藏书网ing, poet with the sorrow ! earth is low:
The universes inward voices cry
Amen to either song of joy and wo>.99ｌｉb?e:
Sing, seraph,--poet,--sing on equa9９ｌｉｂ?lly !
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Seraph and the Poet
The Seraph and the Poet
THE seraph sings before the ma
God-One, and in the burning of the Seven,
And with the full life of mate
Heavih him like a mothers
Warm with her first-borns slumber in that
The poet sings upon the earth grave-riven,
Before the naughty world, soon self-fiven
Fing him,--and in the darkness prest
From his own soul. by worldly weights.
Even so,
Sing, seraph with the glory ! heaven is high;
Sing, poet with the sorrow ! earth is low:
The universes inward voices cry
Amen to either song of joy and woe:
Sing, seraph,--poet,--sing on equally !
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.99ｌｉb?
The Souls Expression
The Souls Expression藏书网
WITH stammering lips and insuffit sound
I strive and struggle to deliver right
That mu.siy nature, day and night
With dream and thought and feeling interwound
And inly answering all the senses round
With octaves of a mystic depth a
Which step out grandly to the infinite
From the dark edges of the sensual ground.
This song of soul I struggle to outbear
Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole,
And utter all myself into the air:
But if I did it,--as the thunder-roll
Breaks its own cloud, my flesh would perish there,
Before that dread apocalypse of soul.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning99lｉｂ?t>
The Two Sayings
The Two Sayings
Two savings of the Holy Scriptures beat
Like pulses in the Churchs brow and breast;
And by them we fi in our u
And, heart d>.９９lｉｂ?eep in salt-tears, do yet e
Gods fellowship as if on heavenly seat.
The first is JESUS >WEPT,--whereon is prest
Full many a sobbing face that drop9９ｌｉb?s its best
And sweetest waters on the record sweet:
And one is where the Christ, denied and sed
LOOKED UPOER. Oh, to render plain
By help of having loved a little and mourned,
That look of sovran love and sovran pain
Which HE, who could not si suffered, turned
On him who could reject but not sustain !
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Weakest Thing
The Weakest Thing９9liｂ.
Which is the weakest thing of all
Mi ponder?
The sun, a little cloud pall
With darkness yonder?
The cloud, a little wind move
Whereer it listeth?
The wind, a little leaf above,
Though sere, resisteth?
What time that yellow leaf was green,
My days were gladder;
But now, whatever Spring may mean,
I must grow sadder.
Ah me! a leaf with sighs wring
My lips asunder -
Then is mi the weakest thing
Itself ponder.
Yet, Heart, when sun and cloud are pined
And drop together,
And at a blast, which is not wind,
The forests wither,
Thou, from the darkenihly curse
To glory breakest, -
The Stro o藏书网f the universe
Guarding the weakest!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning>
To
To
Mine is a wayward lay;
And, if its eg rhymes I try t,
Proveth a truant thing,
Whenso some names I love, send it away!
For then, eyes swimming oer,
And clasped hands, and smiles in fondness meant,
Are much more eloquent --
So it had fain begone, and speak no more!
Yet shall it e again,
Ah, friend belovd! if so thy wishes be,
And, with wild melody,
I will, upon thine ear, ce my strain --
ce my simple line,
Unfashiond by the ing hand of Art,
But ing from my heart,
To tell the message of its love to thine!
As o shells, when taken
From Os bed, will faithfully repeat
Her a m>９９ｌｉb.usic sweet --
Evn so these words, true to my heart, shall waken!
Oh! while our bark is seen,
Our little bark of kindly, social love,
Down lifes clear stream to move
Toward the summer shores, where all is green --
So long thy name shall bring,
Echoes of joy unto the grateful gales,
And thousand teales,
To freshen the fos that round thee g!
Hast thou not lookd upon
The flowerets of the field in lowly dress?
Blame not my simpleness --
Think only of my love! -- my song is gone.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
To Flush, My Dog
To Flush, My Dog
Loving friend, the gift of one
Who her own true faith has run
Through thy lower nature,
Be my beion said
With my hand upon thy head,
Gentle fellow-creature!
Like a ladys ris brown,
Flow thy silken ears adown
Either side demurely
Of thy silver-suited breast
Shining out from all the rest
Of thy body purely.
Darkly brown thy body is,
Till the sunshiriking this
Alchemise its dullness,
When the sleek curls manifold
Flash all over into gold
With a burnished fulness.
Underh my stroking hand,
Startled eyes of hazel bland
Kindling, growing larger,
Up thou leapest with a spring,
Full of prank and curveting,
Leaping like a charger.
Leap! thy broad tail waves a light,
Leap! thy slender feet are bright,
opied in fringes;
Leap! those tasselled ears of thine
Flicker strangely, fair and fine
Down their golden inches
Yet, my pretty, sportive friend,
Little ist to su end
That I praise thy rareness;
s may be thy peers
Haply in these drooping ears
And this glossy fairness.
But of thee it shall be said,
This dog watched beside a bed
Day and night unweary,
Watched within a curtained room
Where no sunbeam brake the gloom
Round the sid dreary.
Roses, gathered for a vase,
In that chamber died apace,
Beam and breeze resigning;
This dog only, waited on,
Knowing that when light is gone
Love remains for shining.
s in thymy dew
Tracked the hares and followed through
Sunny moor or meadow;
This dog only, crept and crept
a languid cheek that slept,
Sharing in the shadow.
s of loyal cheer
Bou the whistle clear,
Up the woodside hieing;
This dog only, watched in reach
Of a faintly uttered speech
Or a lhing.
And if one or two quick tears
Dropped upon his glossy e?ars
Or a sigh came double,
Up he sprang in eager haste,
Fawning, fondling, breathing fast,
In a terouble.
And this dog was satisfied
If a pale thin hand would glide
Down his des sloping, --
Which he pushed his hin,
After, -- platf his
On the palm left open.
This dog, if a friendly voice
Call him now to blither choice
Than such chamber-keeping,
e out! praying from the door, --
Presseth backward as before,
Up against me leaping.
Therefore to this dog will I,
Tenderly not sfully,
Render praise and favor:
With my hand upon his head,
Is my beion said
Therefore and for ever.
And because he loves me so,
Better than his kind will do
Often man or woman,
Give I back more love again
Than dogs often take of men,
Leaning from my Human.
Blessings on thee, dog of mine,
Pretty collars make thee fine,
Sugared milk make fat thee!
Pleasures wag on in thy tail,
Hands of geion fail
Nevermore, to pat thee
Downy pillow take thy head,
Silken coverlid bestead,
Sunshihy sleeping!
No flys buzzing wake thee up,
No mahy purple cup
Set for drinking deep in.
Whiskered cats arointed flee,
Sturdy stoppers keep from thee
Cologne distillations;
Nuts lie in thy path for stones,
And thy feast-day macaroons
Turn to daily rations!
Mock I thee, in wishing weal? --
Tears are in my eyes to feel
Thou art made so straitly,
Blessing needs must straiten too, --
Little st thou joy or do,
Thou who lovest greatly.
Yet be blessed to the height
Of all good and all delight
Pervious to thy nature;
Only loved beyond that line,
With a love that ahine,
Loving fellow-creature!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
To George Sand: A Desire
To Gee Sand: A Desire..
THOU large-brained woman and large-h９９ｌiｂ.earted man,
Self-called Gee Sand ! w.hose soul, amid the lions
Of thy tumultuous senses, moans defiance
And answers roar for roar, as spirits :
I would some mild miraculous thunder ran
Above the applauded circus, in appliance
Of thine own nobler natures strength and sce,
Drawing two pinions, white as wings of swan,
From thy strong shoulders, to amaze the place
With hht ! that thou to womans claim
And mans, mightst join beside the angels grace
Of a pure genius sanctified from blame
Till child and maiden pressed to thine embrace
To kiss upon thy lips a stainless fame.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
To George Sand: A Recognition
To Gee Sand: A Reition
TRUE genius, but true woman ! dost deny
The womans nature with a manly s
And break away the gauds and armlets worn
By weaker women in captivity?
Ah, vain denial ! that revolted cry
Is sobbed in by a womans voice forlorn, _
Thy womans hair, my sister, all?９９lｉb. unshorn
Floats back dishevelled strength in agony
Disproving thy mans name: and while before
The world thou bur in a poet-fire,
We see thy woma beat evermore
Through the large flame. Beat purer, heart, and higher,
Till God uhee on the heavenly shore
Where uninate spirits purely aspire !
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Two Sayings, The
Two Sayings, The
Two savings of the Holy Scriptures beat
Like pulses in the Churchs brow and breast;
And by them we fi in our u
And, heart deep in salt-tears, do yet e
Gods fellowship as if on heavenly seat.
The first is JESUS WEPT,--whereon is prest
Full many a sobbing face that d>..rops its best
And sweetest waters on the record sweet:
And one is where the Christ, denied and sed
LOOKED UPOER. Oh, to render plain
By help of having loved a little and mourned,
That look of sovran love and sovran pain
Which HE, who could not si suffered, turned
On him who could reject but not sustain !
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
V
V
I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
As ora her sepulchral urn,
And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see
What a great heap of grief lay h>.id in me,
And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
Through the ashen grayness. If thy foot in s
Could tread them out to darkness utterly,
It might９9liｂ. be well perhaps. But if instead
Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
The gray dust up,> . . . those laurels on thine head,
O my Beloved, will not shield thee so,
That none of all the fires shall scord shred
The hair beh. Stand farther off then ! go.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
VI
VI
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upohreshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall and
The uses of my soul, nor ..lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore--
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pu.lses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees withinbbr>? my eyes the tears of two.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
VII
VII
The face of all the world is ged, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
Was caught up into love, and9９liｂ. taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole
God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,
And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.
The names of try, heaven, are ged away
For where thou art or shalt be, the９9ｌiｂ.t>re or here;
And this . . . this lute and song . . . loved yesterday,
(The singing angels know) are only dear
Because thy name moves right> in what they say.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
VIII
VIII
What .. I give thee back, O liberal
And princely giver, who hast brought the gold
And purple of thi, unstained, untold,
And l..aid them oside of the-wall
For such as I to take or leave withal,
In ued largesse ? am I cold,
Ungrateful, that for these most manifold
High gifts, I render nothing back at all ?
Not so; not cold,--but very藏书网 poor instead.
Ask God who knows. For frequent tears have run
The colors from my life, a so dead
And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done
To give the same as pillow to thy head藏书网.
Go farther ! let it serve to trample on.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Weakest Thing, The
Weakest Thing, The
Which is the weakest thing of all
Mi c藏书网an ponder?
The sun, a little cloud pall
With darkness yonder?
The cloud, .９9liｂ.a little wind move
Whereer it listeth?
The wind, a little leaf above,
Though sere, resisteth?
W..ime that yellow leaf was green,
My days were gladder;
But now, whatever Spring may mean,
I must grow sadder.
Ah me! ?９９ｌiｂ?a leaf with sighs wring
My lips asunder -
Then is mi the weakest thing
Itself ponder.
Yet, Heart, when sun and cloud are pined
And drop together,
And at a blast, which is not wind,
The forests wither,
Thou, from the darkenihly curse
To glory breakest, -
The Stro of the universe
Guarding the weakest!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Work
Work
WHAT are we set oh fo藏书网r ? Say, to toil;
Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines
For all the heat o the day, till it dees,
Ahs mild curfew shall from work assoil.
God did anoint thee with his odorous oil,
To wrestle, not tn; and He assigns
All thy tears over, like pure crystallines,
For younger fellow-workers of the soil
To wear for amulets. So others shall
Take patience, labor, to their heart and hand
From thy hand .and thy heart and thy brave cheer,
??And Gods grace fructify through thee to
The least flower with a brimming cup may stand,
And share its dew-drop with another nea?９9lｉb.r.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Work And Contemplation
Work And plation
The woman sih at her spinning-wheel
A pleasant t, ballad or barcarole;
She thih of her song, upon the whole,
Far more than of her flax; ahe reel
Is full, and artfully her fing藏书网ers feel
With quick adjustment, provident trol,
The lioo s?9９lib.ly twisted to unroll--
Out to a perfect thread. I hence appeal
To t9９liｂ?he dear Christian Church--that we may do
Our Fathers business iemples mirk,
Thus swift and steadfast, thus i and strong;
While thus, apart from toil, our souls pursue
Some high calm spherie, and prove our work
The better for the sw.ness of our song.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
X-IV
X
Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:
And love is fire. And when I say at need
I love thee . . . mark ! . . . I love thee--in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright,
With ?9９ｌiｂ.sce of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face toward thiheres nothing low
In love, when love the lowest: mea creatures
Who love God, God accepts while loving so.
And what I feel, across the inferior features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
How that great work of Love enhanatures.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
XI?.
And therefore if to love be desert,
I am not all unworthy. Cheeks as pale
As these you see, and trembling khat fail
To bear the burden of a heavy heart,--
This weary minstrel-life that once was girt
To climb Aornus, and scarce avail
To pipe now gainst the valley nightingale
A melanusic,--why advert
To these things ? O Beloved, it is plain
I am not of thy worth nor for thy place !
A, because I love thee, I obtain
From that same love this vindig grace,
To live on still in love, a in vain,--
To bless thee, yet renouhee to thy face.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
XII
Ihis very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth e with a ruby large enow
To draw mens eyes and prove the inner cost,--
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, uhat thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine ear eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I ot speak
Of love even, as a good thing of my own:
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,--
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek !)
Is by thee only, whom I love a..lone.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXIV
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for loves sake only. Do not say
I love her for her smile--her look--her way
Of speakily,--for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, aes brought
A se..nse of pleasant ease on such a day--
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be ged, or ge for thee,--and love, sht,
May be unwrought so. her love me for
Thine own dear pitys wiping my cheeks dry,--
A creature might fet to weep, who bore
Thy fort long, and lose thy love thereby !
But love me for loves sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through loves eternity.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXIV (If thou must love me, let it be for nought)
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for loves sake only. Do not say
"I love her for her smile--her look--her way
Of speakily,--for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, aes brought
A sense of ease on such a day--"
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be ged, or ge for thee,--and love, sht,
May be unwrought so. her love me for
Thine own dear pitys wiping my cheek dry,--
A creature might fet to weep, who bore
Thy fort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for loves sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through loves eternity.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
XIX~XLIV
XL
Oh, yes ! t藏书网hey love through all this world of ours !
I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth.
I have heard love talked in my early youth,
And sinot so long back but that the flowers
Then gathered, smell still. Mussulmans and Giaours
Throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth
For any weeping. Polyphemes white tooth
Slips o if, after frequent showers,
The shell is over-smooth,--and not so much
Will turhing called love, aside to hate
Or else to oblivion. But thou art not such
A lover, my Beloved ! thou st wait
Through sorrow and siess, t souls to touch,
And think it soohers cry Too late.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
XLI
I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all
Who paused a little he prison-wall
To hear my musi its louder parts
Ere they went onward, eae to the marts
Or temples occupation, beyond call.
But thou, who, in my voices sink and fall
When the sob took it, thy divi Arts
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot
To hearken what I said between my tears, . . .
Instruct me how to thank thee ! Oh, to shoot
My souls full meaning into future years,
That they should lend it utterance, and salute
Love that endures, from Life that disappears !
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXLII
My future will not copy fair my past--
I wrote that once; and thinking at my side
My ministering life-angel justified
The word by his appealing look upcast
To the white throne of God, I tur last,
And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied
To angels in thy soul ! Then I, long tried
By natural ills, received the fort fast,
While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrims staff
Gave out green leaves with m dews impearled.
I seek no copy now of lifes first half:
Leave here the pages with long musing curled,
And write me new my futures epigraph,
New angel mine, unhoped for in the world !
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXLIII
How do I love thee ? Let me t the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth a
My soul reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everydays
Most quiet need, by sun and dle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive fht;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhoods faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life !--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXLIV
Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And whi warm and cold days I withdrew
From my hearts ground. Ihose beds and bowers
Be rown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet heres eglantine,
Here s ivy !--take them, as I used to do
Thy fowers, ahem where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true,
Ahy soul their roots are left in mine.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
XV~XX
XV
Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
Too calm and sad a fa front of thine;
For we two look two ways, and 9９ｌiｂ. shine
With the same sunlight on our brow and hair.
Ohou lookest with no doubting care,
As on a bee shut in a crystalline;
Since sorrow hath shut me safe in loves divine,
And to spread wing and fly ier air
Were most impossible failure, if I strove
To fail so. But I look on thee--on thee--
Beholding, besides love, the end of love,
Hearing oblivion beyond memory;
As one who sits and gazes from above,
Over the rivers to the bitter sea.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXVI
A, because thou overest so,
Because thou art more noble and like a king,
Thou st prevail against my fears and fling
Thy purple rouill my heart shall grow
Too close against thi heh to know
How it shook when alone. Why, quering
May prove as lordly and plete a thing
In lifting upward, as in crushing low !
And as a vanquished soldier yields his sword
To one who lifts him from the bloody earth,
Even so, Beloved, I at last record,
Here ends my strife. If thou invite me forth,
I rise above abasement at the word.
Make thy love larger to enlarge my worth.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXVII
My poet, thou st tou all the notes
God set between his After and Before,
And strike up and strike off the general roar
Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats
In a serene air purely. Antidotes
Of medicated musiswering for
Mankinds forlor uses, thou st pour
From theo their ears. Gods will devotes
Thio suds, and mio wait on thine.
How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use ?
A hope, to sing by gladly ? or a fine
Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse ?
A shade, in which to sing--of palm or pine ?
A grave, on which to rest from singing ? Choose.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXVIII
I never gave a lock of hair away
To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,
Whiow upon my fihoughtfully,
I ring out to the full browh and say
Take it. My day of youth weerday;
My hair no longer bounds to my foots glee,
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree,
As girls do, any more: it only may
Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears,
Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside
Through sorrows trick. I thought the funeral-shears
Would take this first, but Love is justified,--
Take it thou,--finding pure, from all those years,
The kiss my mother left here when she died.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXIX
The souls Rialto hath its merdise;
I barter curl for curl upon that mart,
And from my poets forehead to my heart
Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,--
As purply black, as erst to Pindars eyes
The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart
The nine white Muse-brows. For this terpart, . . .
The bay-s shade, Beloved, I surmise,
Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black !
Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath,
I tie the shadows safe from gliding b藏书网ack,
And lay the gift where nothing hih;
Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack
No natural heat till mine grows cold ih.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXX
And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
The love I bear thee, finding words enough,
And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,
Between our faces, to cast light on each ?--
I drop it at thy feet. I ot teach
My hand to hold my spirit so far off
From myself--me--that I should bring thee proof
In words, of love hid i of reach.
Nay, let the sileny womanhood
end my woman-love to thy belief,--
Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed,
Ahe garment of my life, in brief,
By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,
Lest oouch of this heart vey its grief
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
XXI-XXV
XXI
Say ain, a once ain,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem a cuckoo-song, as thou dost treat it,
Remember, o the hill or plain,
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain
es the fresh Spring in all her green pleted.
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubts pain
Cry, Speak once more--thou lovest ! Who fear
Too many stars, though ea heaven shall roll,
Too many flowers, though each shall the year ?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll
The silver iterance !--only minding, Dear,
To love me also in sileh thy soul.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXXII
When our two souls stand up ered strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings brea?k into fire
At either curved point,--what bitter wrong
the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here tented ? Think. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather oh, Beloved,--where the unfit
trari..ous moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, a
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXXIII
Is it indeed so ? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine ?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
Because of grave-damps falling round my head ?
I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read
Thy thought so iter. I am thine--
But . . . so much to thee ? I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble ? Then my soul, instead
Of dreams of death, resumes lifes lower range.
Then, love me, Love ! look on me--breathe on me !
As brighter ladies do not t it strange,
For love, to give up acres and degree,
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exge
My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee !
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXXIV
Let the worlds sharpness, like a clasping knife,
Shut in upon itself and do no harm
In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,
A us hear no sound of human strife
After the cliark>藏书网f the shutting. Life to life--
I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm
Against the stab of worldlings, who if ri..fe
Are weak to injure. Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Aloo heavenly dews that drop not fewer,
Growing straight, out of mans reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, make us poor.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning XXV
A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne
From year to year until I saw thy face,
And sorrow after sorrow took the place
Of all those natural joys as lightly worn
As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn
By a beati at daime. Hopes apace
Were ged to long despairs, till Gods own grace
Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn
My heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me bring
A drop adown thy calmly great
Deep being ! Fast it sih, as a thing
Which its own nature doth precipitate,
While thih close above it, mediating
Betwixt the stars and the unaplished fate.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
XXVI-XXX
XXVI
I lived with visions for my pany
Instead of men and women, years ago,
And found them gees, nor thought to know
A sweefer music than they played.９９ｌｉb.t> to me.
But soorailing purple was not free
Of this worlds dust, their lutes did silent grow,
And I myself grew faint and blind below
Their vanishing eyes. Then THOU didst e--to be,
Beloved, what they seemed. Their shining fronts,
Their songs, their splendors (better, yet the same,
As river-water hallowed into fonts),
Met in thee, and from out thee overcame
My soul with satisfa of all wants:
Because Gods gifts put ma dreams to shame.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXXVII
My own Beloved, who hast lifted me
From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,
And, iwixt the languid ris, blown
A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully
Shines out again, as all the angels see,
Before thy saving kiss ! My own, m９9lib?y own,
Who camest to me when the world was gone,
And I who looked for only God, found thee !
I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad.
As one who stands in dewless asphodel
Looks backward oedious time he had
In the upper life,--so I, with bosom-swell,
Make witness, here, between the good and bad,
That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXXVIII
My letters ! all dead paper, mute and white !
Ahey seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
Ahem drop down on my ko-night.
This said,--he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To e and touch my hand . . . a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it !--this, . . . the papers light . . .
Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if Gods future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine--and so its ink has paled
With Iying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this . . . O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last !
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXXIX
I think of thee !--my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there s nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it uood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better ! Rather, instantly
Rehy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs ahy trunk all bare,
Ahese .bands of greenery whisphere thee
Drop heavily down,--burst, shattered, everywhere !
Because, in this deep joy to see ahee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee--I am too hee.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXXX
I see thine image through my tears to-night,
Ao-day I saw thee smiling. How
Refer the cause ?--Beloved, is it thou
Or I, who makes me sad ? The acolyte
Amid the ted joy and thankful rite
May so fall flat, with pale ie brow,
Oar-stair. I hear thy void vow,
Perplexed, uain, sihou art out of sight,
As he, in his swooning ears, the choirs Amen.
Beloved, dost thou love ? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when
Too vehement light dilated my ideal,
For my souls eyes ? Will that light e again,
As now these tears e--falling hot and real ?
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
XXXI-XXXV
XXXI
Thou est ! all is said without a word.
I sit beh thy looks, as children do
In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred
Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred
In that last doubt ! a I ot rue
The sin most, but the occasion--that we two
Should for a moment stand unministered
By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close,
Thou dovelike help ! and, when my fears would rise,
With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
Brood down with thy divine sufficies
These thoughts ?which tremble whe of those,
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXXXII
The first time that the sun rose on thih
To love me, I looked forward to the moon
To sla all those bonds which seemed too soon
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.
Quick-lovis, I thought, may quickly loathe;
And, looking on myself, I seemed not one
For such mans love !--more like an out-of-tune
Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth
To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste,
Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.
I did n myself so, but I placed
A wrong on thee. For perfect strains may float
h master?9９ｌｉｂ?-hands, from instruments defaced,--
And great souls, at oroke, may do and doat.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXXXIII
Yes, call me by my pet-name ! let me hear
The name I used to run at, when a child,
From i play, and leave the cowslips piled,
To glance up in some face that proved me dear
With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear
Fond vo藏书网ices which, being drawn and reciled
Into the music of Heavens undefiled,
Call me no longer. Silen the bier,
While I call God--call God !--So let thy mouth
Be heir to those who are now exanimate.
Gather the north flowers to plete the south,
And catch the early love up ie.
Yes, call me by that name,--and I, in truth,
With the same heart, will answer and not wait.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXXXIV
With the same heart, I said, Ill ahee
As those, when thou shalt call me by my name--
Lo, the vain promise ! is the same, the same,
Perplexed and ruffled by lifes strategy ?
When called before, I told how hastily
I dropped my flowers or brake off from a game,
To run and answer with the smile that came
At play last moment, a on with me
Through my obedience. When I answer now,
I drop a grave thought, break from solitude;
Yet still my heart goes to thee--ponder how--
Not as to a single good, but all my good !
Lay thy hand on it, best one, and allow
That no childs foot could run fast as this blood.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
XXXV
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exge
And be all to me ? Shall I never miss
Home-talk and blessing and the on kiss
That es to ea turn, nor t it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors, another home than this ?
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
Filled by dead eyes too teo know ge ?
That s hardest. If to quer love, has tried,
To quer grief, tries more, as all things prove;
Frief indeed is love and grief beside.
Alas, I have grieved sol am hard to love.
Yet love me--wilt thou ? Open thi wide,
And fold withi wings of thy dove.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
XXXVI-XXXIX
XXXVI
Whe first and loved, I did not build
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean
To last, a love set pendulous between
Sorrow and sorrow ? Nay, I rather thrilled,
Distrusting every light that seemed to gild
The onath, and feared to overlean
A finger even. And, though I have grown serene
And strong sihen, I think that God has willed
A still renewable fear . . . O love, O troth . . .
Lest these enclasped hands should never hold,
This mutual kiss drop dowween us both
As an uhing, ohe lips being cold.
And Love, be false ! if he, to keep oh,
Must lose one joy, by his lifes star foretold.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.９9lｉb?
XXXVII
Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make,
Of all that strong divineness which I know
For thine and thee, an image only so
Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and break.
It is that distant years which did not take
Thy sovranty, recoiling with a blow,
Have forced my swimming brain to undergo
Their doubt and dread, and blindly to forsake
Thy purity of likeness and distort
Thy worthiest love to a worthless terfeit:
As if a shipwrecked Pagan, safe in port,
His guardian sea-god to orate,
Should set a sculptured porpoise, gills a-snort
And vibrant tail, withiemple-gate.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXXXVIII
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever si grew more and white,
Slow treetings, quick with its Oh, list,
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plaio my sight,
Than that first kiss. The sed passed i
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the ..hair. O beyond meed !
That was the chrism of love, which loves own ,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
I have been proud and said, My love, my own.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningXXXIX
Because thou hast the power and ownst the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me
(Against which years have beat thus blangly
With their rains), and behold my souls true face,
The dim and weary witness of lifes race,--
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same souls distrag lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens,--because nor sin nor woe,
Nods infli, nor deaths neighborhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,--
Nothing repels thee, . . . Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good !
Elizabeth Barrett Browning天涯在线书库《www.tianyabook.com》