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<strong>XL</strong>Oh, yes ! t<var>藏书网</var>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.
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>
<strong>
XLI</strong>
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 !
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>
<strong>XLII</strong>
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 m<cite></cite>using curled,
And write me new my futures epigraph,
New angel mine, unhoped for in the world !
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>
<strong>XLIII</strong>
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.
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>
<strong>XLIV</strong>
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<q></q> 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.
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>
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