My Letters! all dead paper. . . (Sonnet XXVIII)

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    <strong>My Letters! all dead paper. . . (So XXVIII)</strong><kbd>９9lｉb?</kbd>

    My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!

    Ahey seem alive and quivering

    Against my tremulous hands which loose the string

    <samp></samp>Ahem drop down on my konight.

    This said&amp;#8212;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 <abbr>藏书网</abbr>for it&amp;#8212;this . . . the papers light. . .

    Said, Dear, I love t<q></q>hee; and I sank and quailed

    As if Gods future thundered on my past.

    This said, I am thine&amp;#8212;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<big>藏书网</big>ed repeat at last!

    <strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>

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