So XXXI
Thou est ! all is said without a word.
I sit beh thy looks, as children do
In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred
Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred
In that last doubt ! a I ot rue
The sin most, but the occasion--that we two
Should for a moment stand unministered
By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close,
Thou dovelike help ! and, when my fears would rise,
With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
Brood down with thy divine sufficies
These thoughts which tremble whe of those,
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
So XXXI: Thou est!
Thou est! all is said without a word.
I sit beh thy looks, as children do
In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred
Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred
In that last doubt! a I ot rue
The sin most, but the occasion--that we two
Should for a moment stand unministered
By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close,
Thou dovelike help! and, when my fears would rise,
With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
Brood down with thy divine sufficies
These thoughts which tremble whe of those,
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
So XXXII
The first time that the sun rose on thih
To love me, I looked forward to the moon
To sla all those bonds which seemed too soon
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.
Quick-lovis, I thought, may quickly loathe;
And, looking on myself, I seemed not one
For such mans love !--more like an out-of-tune
Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth
To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste,
Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.
I did n myself so, but I placed
A wrong on thee. For perfect strains may float
h master-hands, from instruments defaced,--
And great souls, at oroke, may do and doat.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
So XXXII: The First Time
The first time that the sun rose on thih
To love me, I looked forward to the moon
To sla all those bonds which seemed too soon
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.
Quick-lovis, I thought, may quickly loathe;
And, looking on myself, I seemed not one
For such mans love!--more like an out-of-tune
Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth
To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste,
Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.
I did n myself so, but I placed
A wrong on thee. For perfect strains may float
h master-hands, from instruments defaced,--
And great souls, at oroke, may do and doat.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
So XXXIII
Yes, call me by my pet-name ! let me hear
The name I used to run at, when a child,
From i play, and leave the cowslips piled,
To glance up in some face that proved me dear
With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear
Fond voices which, being drawn and reciled
Into the music of Heavens undefiled,
Call me no longer. Silen the bier,
While I call God--call God !--So let thy mouth
Be heir to those who are now exanimate.
Gather the north flowers to plete the south,
And catch the early love