SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE (I)
by: Elizabeth Barrett Browning
(1806-1861)
- THOUGHT once how Theocritus had sung
- Of the sweet years, the dear and wish'd-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 ran--'Not Death, but Love.'
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