Sonnets from the Portuguese i-v

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    <strong>Sos from the Puese i</strong>

    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 anti<dfn></dfongue,

    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.

    <strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>

    <strong>Sos from the Puese ii</strong>

    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.

    <strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>

    <strong>Sos from the Puese iii</strong>

    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.

    <strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>

    <strong>Sos from the Puese iv</strong><var></var>

    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.

    <strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>

    <strong>Sos from the Puese v</strong>

    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<u></u> permit

    A place to stand and love in for a day,

    With darkness and the death-hour rou<u>..</u>nding it.

    <strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>

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