| Home » Love » Poetry |
Sonnets from the Portuguese, XIII
And wilt thou have me fashion into speech The love I bear thee, finding words enough, And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough, Between our faces, to cast light upon each? I drop it at thy feet. I cannot teach My hand to hold my spirit so far off From myself.. me.. that I should bring thee proof, In words of love hid in me... out of reach. Nay, let the silence of my womanhood Commend my woman-love to thy belief, Seeing that I stand unwon (however wooed) And rend the garment of my life in brief By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude, Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief. Elizabeth Barrett Browning Related Articles: Sonnets from the Portuguese XIV Still to be Neat Sweet Disorder Tell Me Not, Sweet The Clod and the Pebble The Flea The Indian Serenade The Lost Thrill  To our knowledge this poem is in the public domain. If you believe we have infringed any copyright laws please contact us and the offending material will be removed immediately.  The poetry on this site is for entertainment purposes only. See Full Disclaimer for more information. |
