ETHINKS we do as fretful children do, To sigh the glass dim with their own And shut the sky and landscape from their view: A mystic separation 'twixt those twain, Thy vision may be clear to watch along ELIZABETH BARRETT Browning. 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 Of speaking gently,-for a trick of thought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day ;'— Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,— A creature might forget to weep, who bore ELIZABETH Barrett Browning. S it indeed so? If I lay here dead, And would the sun for thee more coldly shine Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine- 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. |