Sonnet XXII
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 curved point,--what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here contented ? Think. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Beloved,--where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Vous avez aimé cette poésie ? faites la connaître !
D'autres poésies de Elizabeth Barrett Browning
A Child Asleep
How he sleepeth! having drunken
Weary...
A Curse For A Nation
I heard an angel speak last night,
And he said...
A Man's Requirements
I
Love me Sweet, with all thou art,
Feeling,...
A Musical Instrument
What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the...
A Sea-Side Walk
We walked beside the sea,
After a day which perished...
A Thought For A Lonely Death-Bed
IF God compel thee to this destiny,
To die alone, with...
A Woman's Shortcomings
She has laughed as softly as if she sighed,
She has...
A Year's Spinning
1
He listened at the porch that day,
To hear the...
Adequacy
NOW, by the verdure on thy thousand hills,
Beloved...
An Apprehension
IF all the gentlest-hearted friends I know
Concentred in...
Précédentes poésies
Villonaud for This Yule
Towards the Noel that morte saison
(Christ make the...
Villanelle: The Psychological Hour
I had over prepared the event,
that much was ominous.
Ts'ai Chi'h
The petals fall in the fountain,
the orange-coloured...
These Fought in Any Case
These fought in any case,
and some believing
pro...
The Tree
I stood still and was a tree amid the wood,
Knowing the...
