Elizabeth Barrett Browning

God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, A gauntlet with a gift in't.

If I married him, I would not dare to call my soul my own, Which so he had bought and paid for: every thought And every heart-beat down there in the bill,– Not one found honestly deductible From any use that pleased him!

Near all the birds, Will sing at dawn,—and yet we do not take The chaffering swallow for the holy lark.

The works of women are symbolical. We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull our sight, Producing what? A pair of slippers, sir, To put on when you’re weary.

Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning. His last word was, 'Love–' 'Love, my child, love, love!'–(then he had done with grief) 'Love, my child.' Ere I answered he was gone, And none was left to love in all the world.

Of writing many books there is no end; And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses, will write now for mine,— Will write my story for my better self, As when you paint your portrait for a friend, Who keeps it in a …

Here's ivy! — take them, as I used to do Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true, And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine.

I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I seek no copy now of life's first half: Leave here the pages with long musing curled, And write me new my future's epigraph, New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!

Instruct me how to thank thee! Oh, to shoot My soul's full meaning into future years, That they should lend it utterance, and salute Love that endures, from life that disappears!

Because God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame.

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 curvèd point,—what bitter wrong Can the earth do to us, that we should not long Be here …

But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou may'st love on, through love's eternity

If thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only.

For frequent tears have run The colours from my life.

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand Henceforward in thy shadow.

Hush, call no echo up in further proof Of desolation! there's a voice within That weeps... as thou must sing... alone, aloof.

Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor, Most gracious singer of high poems! where The dancers will break footing, from the care Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.

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... …

And that dismal cry rose slowly, And sank slowly through the air; Full of spirit's melancholy And eternity's despair! And they heard the words it said,—

And the rolling anapaestic Curled, like vapour over shrines!

And lips say, "God be pitiful," Who ne’er said, "God be praised."

Therefore to this dog will I, Tenderly not scornfully, Render praise and favour! With my hand upon his head, Is my benediction said Therefore, and for ever.