Elizabeth Barrett Browning

(6 March 1806 – 29 June 1861 / Durham / England)

I - Poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-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.'


Comments about I by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  • Brian Jani (5/2/2014 7:44:00 AM)


    Nice poem I like it very much (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: silver, sad, death, hair, life



Poem Submitted: Saturday, May 12, 2001

Poem Edited: Saturday, May 12, 2001


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