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Sonnets from the Portuguese i
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I THOUGHT once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wish'd-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
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 across me. 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.'
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Read poems about / on: silver, sad, death, hair, life
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Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Susan Witman
(1/3/2009 1:54:00 PM) |
I think before I set to weep. For love of a soul departed. I wasn't ready to see my love when he first appeared. As a blond figure by my bookcase. It is in death that I see the man who loved and for whose love I wept.
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Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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