SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE (III)
by: Elizabeth Barrett Browning
(1806-1861)
- O from
me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
- Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
- Alone upon the threshold of my door
- Of individual life I shall command
- The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
- Serenely in the sunshine as before,
- Without the sense of that which I forbore--
- Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
- Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
- With pulses that beat double. What I do
- And what I dream include thee, as the wine
- Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
- God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
- And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
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