The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning Volume IV Part 6

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.

XXIII.

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 s.h.i.+ne 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!

XXIV.

Let the world's sharpness, like a clasping knife, Shut in upon itself and do no harm In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm, And let us hear no sound of human strife After the click of the shutting. Life to life-- I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm, And feel as safe as guarded by a charm Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife Are weak to injure. Very-whitely still The lilies of our lives may rea.s.sure Their blossoms from their roots, accessible Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer Growing straight, out of man's reach, on the hill.

G.o.d only, who made us rich, can make us poor.

XXV.

A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne From year to year until I saw thy face, And sorrow after sorrow took the place Of all those natural joys as lightly worn As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn By a beating heart at dance-time. Hopes apace Were changed to long despairs, till G.o.d's own grace Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn My heavy heart. Then _thou_ didst bid me bring And let it drop adown thy calmly great Deep being! Fast it sinketh, as a thing Which its own nature doth precipitate, While thine doth close above it, mediating Betwixt the stars and the unaccomplished fate.

XXVI.

I lived with visions for my company Instead of men and women, years ago, And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know A sweeter music than they played to me.

But soon their trailing purple was not free Of this world's dust, their lutes did silent grow, And I myself grew faint and blind below Their vanis.h.i.+ng eyes. Then THOU didst come--to be, Beloved, what they seemed. Their s.h.i.+ning fronts, Their songs, their splendours (better, yet the same, As river-water hallowed into fonts), Met in thee, and from out thee overcame My soul with satisfaction of all wants: Because G.o.d's gifts put man's best dreams to shame.

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 life-breath, till the forehead hopefully s.h.i.+nes out again, as all the angels see, Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own, Who camest to me when the world was gone, And I who looked for only G.o.d, found _thee_!

I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and 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 and bad, That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well.

XXVIII.

My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!

And yet they seem alive and quivering Against my tremulous hands which loose the string And let them drop down on my knee to-night.

This said,--he wished to have me in his sight Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring To come and touch my hand ... a simple thing, Yet I wept for it!--this, ... the paper's light ...

Said, _Dear, I love thee_; and I sank and quailed As if G.o.d's future thundered on my past.

This said, _I am thine_--and so its ink has paled With lying at my heart that beat too fast.

And this ... O Love, thy words have ill availed If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!

XXIX.

I think of thee!--my thoughts do twine and bud About thee, as wild vines, about a tree, Put out broad leaves, and soon there's nought to see Except the straggling green which hides the wood.

Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood I will not have my thoughts instead of thee Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should, Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare, And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee Drop heavily down,--burst, shattered, everywhere!

Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee And breathe within thy shadow a new air, I do not think of thee--I am too near thee.

x.x.x.

I see thine image through my tears to-night, And yet to-day I saw thee smiling. How Refer the cause?--Beloved, is it thou Or I, who makes me sad? The acolyte Amid the chanted joy and thankful rite May so fall flat, with pale insensate brow, On the altar-stair. I hear thy voice and vow, Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of sight, As he, in his swooning ears, the choir's Amen.

Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when Too vehement light dilated my ideal, For my soul's eyes? Will that light come again, As now these tears come--falling hot and real?

x.x.xI.

Thou comest! all is said without a word.

I sit beneath 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! and yet I cannot 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 sufficiencies These thoughts which tremble when bereft of those, Like callow birds left desert to the skies.

x.x.xII.

The first time that the sun rose on thine oath To love me, I looked forward to the moon To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.

Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe; And, looking on myself, I seemed not one For such man's love!--more like an out-of-tune Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth To spoil his song with, and which, s.n.a.t.c.hed in haste, Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.

I did not wrong myself so, but I placed A wrong on _thee_. For perfect strains may float 'Neath master-hands, from instruments defaced,-- And great souls, at one stroke, may do and doat.

x.x.xIII.

Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear The name I used to run at, when a child, From innocent 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 reconciled Into the music of Heaven's undefiled, Call me no longer. Silence on the bier, While I call G.o.d--call G.o.d!--So let thy mouth Be heir to those who are now exanimate.

Gather the north flowers to complete the south, And catch the early love up in the late.

Yes, call me by that name,--and I, in truth, With the same heart, will answer and not wait.

x.x.xIV.

With the same heart, I said, I'll answer thee As those, when thou shalt call me by my name-- Lo, the vain promise! is the same, the same, Perplexed and ruffled by life's strategy?

When called before, I told how hastily I dropped my flowers or brake off from a game, To run and answer with the smile that came At play last moment, and went on with me Through my obedience. When I answer now, I drop a grave thought, break from solitude; Yet still my heart goes to thee--ponder how-- Not as to a single good, but all my good!

Lay thy hand on it, best one, and allow That no child's foot could run fast as this blood.

x.x.xV.

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 thine heart wide, And fold within the wet wings of thy dove.

x.x.xVI.

When we met first and loved, I did not build Upon the event with marble. Could it mean To last, a love set pendulous between Sorrow and sorrow? Nay, I rather thrilled, Distrusting every light that seemed to gild The onward path, and feared to overlean A finger even. And, though I have grown serene And strong since then, I think that G.o.d has willed A still renewable fear ... O love, O troth ...

Lest these enclasped hands should never hold, This mutual kiss drop down between us both As an unowned thing, once the lips being cold.