Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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

Xxiii - Poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Is it indeed so ? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine ?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
Because of grave-damps falling round my head ?
I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine--
But . . . so much to thee ? Can I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble ? Then my soul, instead
Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range.
Then, love me, Love ! look on me--breathe on me !
As brighter ladies do not count it strange,
For love, to give up acres and degree,
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange
My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee !


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Read poems about / on: heaven, death, sun, life, love, lost, dream



Poem Submitted: Sunday, May 13, 2001

Poem Edited: Sunday, May 13, 2001


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