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<strong>XXVI</strong>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<tt>.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.
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>
<strong>XXVII</strong>
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.
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong><bdo></bdo>
<strong>XXVIII</strong>
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.
An<mark></mark>d this . . . O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last !
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>
<strong>XXIX</strong>
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 <var>.</var>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.
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>
<strong>XXX</strong>
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 ?
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>
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