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ETHINKS we do as fretful children do,
Leaning their faces on the window-pane

To sigh the glass dim with their own
breath's stain,

And shut the sky and landscape from their view:
And thus, alas, since God the Maker drew

A mystic separation 'twixt those twain,
The life beyond us, and our souls in pain,
We miss the prospect which we are called unto
By grief we are fools to use. Be still and strong,
O man, my brother! hold thy sobbing breath,
And keep thy soul's large window pure from wrong;
That so, as life's appointment issueth,

Thy vision may be clear to watch along
The sunset consummation-lights of death.

ELIZABETH BARRETT Browning.

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THOUGHT once how Theocritus had sung

Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for

years,

Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young-: And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,

I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, So weeping, how a mystic shape did move Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair; And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,'Guess now who holds thee?''Death,' I said. But there, The silver answer rang,' Not Death, but Love.'

ELIZABETH Barrett BrowNING.

Y 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 Shines 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 God, 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. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

JF 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,—

A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou may'st love on, through love's eternity.

ELIZABETH Barrett Browning.

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S 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!

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

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