Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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

Xxii - Poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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When our two souls stand up erect and strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curved point,--what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here contented ? Think. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Beloved,--where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.


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Read poems about / on: silence, song, fire, death, angel



Poem Submitted: Sunday, May 13, 2001



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