Sonnet XXI

Say over again, and yet once over again,

That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated

Should seem a cuckoo-song, as thou dost treat it,

Remember, never to the hill or plain,

Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain

Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.

Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted

By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubts pain

Cry, Speak once more--thou lovest ! Who can fear

Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,

Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year ?

Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll

The silver iterance !--only minding, Dear,

To love me also in silence with thy soul.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnet XXI: Say Over Again

Say over again, and yet once over again,

That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated

Should seem "a cuckoo-song,"as thou dost treat it,

Remember, never to the hill or plain,

Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain

Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.

Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted

By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubts pain

Cry, Speak once more--thou lovest! Who can fear

Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,

Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year?

Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll

The silver iterance!--only minding, Dear,

To love me also in silence with thy soul.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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

Sonnet XXII: When Our Two Souls Stand Up

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 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, Belovèd,--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

Sonnet XXIII

Is it indeed so ? If I lay here dead,

Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine ?

And would the sun for thee more coldly shine

Because of grave-damps falling round my head ?

I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read

Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine--

But . . . so much to thee ? Can I pour thy wine

While my hands tremble ? Then my soul, instead

Of dreams of death, resumes lifes lower range.

Then, love me, Love ! look on me--breathe on me !

As brighter ladies do not count it strange,

For love, to give up acres and degree,

I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange

My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee !

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnet XXIII: Is It Indeed So?

Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,

Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?

And would the sun for thee more coldly shine

Because of grave-damps falling round my head?

I marvelled, my Belovèd, when I read

Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine--

But...so much to thee? Can I pour your wine

While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead

Of dreams of death, resumes lifes lower range.

Then, love me, Love! Look on me--breathe on me!

As brighter ladies do not count it strange,

For love, to give up acres and degree,

I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange

My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee!

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnet XXIV

Let the worlds sharpness, like a clasping knife,

Shut in upon itself and do no harm

In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,

And let us hear no sound of human strife

After the click of the shutting. Life to life--

I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,

And feel as safe as guarded by a charm

Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife

Are weak to injure. Very whitely still

The lilies of our lives may reassure

Their blossoms from their roots, accessible

Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer,

Growing straight, out of mans reach, on the hill.

God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnet XXIV: Let the Worlds Sharpness

Let the worlds sharpness like a clasping knife

Shut in upon itself and do no harm

In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,

And let us hear no sound of human strife

After the click of the shutting. Life to life -

I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,

And feel as safe as guarded by a charm

Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife

Are weak to injure. Very whitely still

The lilies of our lives may reassure

Their blossoms from their roots, accessible

Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer;

Growing straight, out of mans reach, on the hill.

God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnet XXV

A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne

From year to year until I saw thy face,

And sorrow after sorrow took the place

Of all those natural joys as lightly worn

As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn

By a beating heart at dance-time. Hopes apace

Were changed to long despairs, till Gods own grace

Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn

My heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me bring

And let it drop adown thy calmly great

Deep being ! Fast it sinketh, as a thing

Which its own nature doth precipitate,

While thine doth close above it, mediating

Betwixt the stars and the unaccomplished fate.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnet XXV: A Heavy Heart, Belovèd

A heavy heart, Belovèd, have I borne

From year to year until I saw thy face,

And sorrow after sorrow took the place

Of all those natural joys as lightly worn

As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn

By a beating heart at dance-time. Hopes apace

Were changed to long despairs, till Gods own grace

Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn

My heavy heart. Than thou didst bid me bring

And let it drop adown thy calmly great

Deep being! Fast it sinketh, as a thing

Which its own nature doth precipitate,

While thine doth close above it, mediating

Betwixt the stars and the unaccomplished fate.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning