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<strong>XXXVI</strong>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 s<var></var>erene
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.
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong><bdi>.９9lｉb?</bdi>
<strong>XXXVII</strong>
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.
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>
<strong>XXXVIII</strong>
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 si<u></u>ght,
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.
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>
<strong>XXXIX</strong>
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 !
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>
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