Elizabeth Barrett Browning, by Michele Gordigiani, 1858, National Portrait Gallery, Londres.
*****
VII
The face of all the world is changed I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still… oh, still,… beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me & the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death,… where I who thought to sink
Was caught up into love & taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole
God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,
And praise the sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear! –
The names of country, Heaven, are changed away
For where thou art or shalt be, there or here;
And this… this lute & song… loved yesterday,…
(The singing angels know!)… are only dear
Because thy name moves right in what they say.
X
Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax! – an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-raft or weed.
And love is fire! – And when I say at need
I love thee… mark!... I love thee!... in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright
With conscience of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face to thine. There’s nothing low
In love, when love the lowest. Meanest creatures
Who love God, God accepts while loving so.
And what I feel, across the inferior
features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and
show
How that great work of Love enhances Nature’s.
XIV
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love’s sake only. Do not say
“I love her for her smile… her look… her way
Of speaking gently…; for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day”–
For these things in themselves, beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,… and love so wrought
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity’s wiping my cheeks dry! –
For one might well forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, & lose thy love thereby.
But love me for love’s sake, that evermore
Thou may’st love on through love’s eternity.
XXI
Beloved, say again & yet again,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem a cuckoo-song as thou dost mete it,
Remember, never to the hill & plain,
Valley & wood, without her cuckoo-strain
Comes the fresh Spring in all her green, completed.
Beloved! – I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt’s pain
Cry… speak once more… thou lovest! Who can fear
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll…
Too many flowers, though each should crown the year?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me… toll
The silver iterance! – only minding, dear,
To love me also in silence, with thy soul.
XXIII
Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Would’st 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 lands and high degree,
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange
My near sweet view of Heaven… for earth with thee!
XXVII
My own beloved, who hast lifted me
From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown, –
And in betwixt the languid ringlets blown
A lifebreath, till the forehead hopefully
Shines out again, as all the angels see,
Against thy saving kiss!... My own, my own,…
Who camest to me when the world was gone,
And I, who looked for only God, found thee!
I find thee! – I am safe, & strong, & glad! –
As one who stands in dewless asphodel
Looks backward on the tedious time he had
In the upper life… so I, with bosom-swell,
Make witness, here, between the good & bad,
That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well.
XXXV
If I leave all for thee,
wilt thou exchange,
And be all to me? – Shall I
never miss
Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss
That comes to each in turn?... nor count it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors… another home than this? –
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
Filled by dead eyes too tender to know change? –
That’s hardest! – If to conquer Love has tried…
To conquer grief, tries more,… as all things prove!
For Grief indeed is Love… and Grief beside! –
Alas! – I have grieved so, I am hard to love –
Yet love me – wilt thou? open thy heart wide,
And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.
XXXIX
Because thou hast the power & own’st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me,
(Against which, years have beat thus blanchingly,
With their rains!) and behold my Soul’s true face…
The dim and weary witness of Life’s race! –
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same Soul’s distracting lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens. Because nor sin nor woe,
Nor God’s infliction, nor death’s neighbourhood,
Nor all which, others viewing, turn to go,…
Nor all which makes me tired of all, selfviewed,…
… Nothing repels thee… Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good.
XLIII
How do I love thee? – Let me count the ways! –
I love thee to the depth & breadth & height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun & candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right, –
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise!
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs,… and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost Saints! – I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! – and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
