May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,——
Since one might well forget to weep who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby !
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou may'st love on, through love's eternity.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

MY letters! all dead

And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands, which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee to-night.
This said, . . . he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To come and touch my hand. . a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it !—this, the paper's light
Said, Dear, I love thee: and I sank and quailed
As if God's future thundered on my past:
This said, I am thine-and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast :

And this O Love, thy words have ill availed,
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

OW do I love thee?

Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise;

I love thee with the passion put to use

In

my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

INCLUSIONS

H, wilt thou have my hand, Dear, to lie along in

OH,

thine;

As a little stone in a running stream, it seems to lie and pine !

Now drop the poor pale hand, Dear, . . . unfit to plight with thine.

Oh, wilt thou have my cheek, Dear, drawn closer to thine own?

My cheek is white, my cheek is worn, by many a tear run

down.

Now leave a little space, Dear,

thine own.

lest it should wet

Oh, must thou have my soul, Dear, commingled with thy soul?

Red grows the cheek, and warm the hand,

is in the whole! .

. . . the part

Nor hands nor cheeks keep separate, when soul is joined to

soul.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

THE

INSUFFICIENCY

`HERE is no one beside thee, and no one above thee; Thou standest alone, as the nightingale sings! And my words that would praise thee,are impotent things, For none can express thee, though all should approve thee. I love thee so, Dear, that I only can love thee.

Say, what can I do for thee? . . . weary thee grieve thee?

Weep my tears over thee . . . making thee sad?
Oh, hold me not-love me not! let me retrieve thee.
I love thee so, Dear, that I only can leave thee.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

A MAN'S REQUIREMENTS

LOVE me, sweet, with all thou art,
Feeling, thinking, seeing,-

Love me in the lightest part,
Love me in full being.

Love me with thy open youth
In its frank surrender;
With the vowing of thy mouth,

With its silence tender.

Love me with thine azure eyes,
Made for earnest granting!
Taking colour from the skies,

Can Heaven's truth be wanting?

Love me with their lids, that fall
Snow-like at first meeting.

Love me with thine heart, that all

The neighbours then see beating.

Love me with thine hand stretched out

Freely-open-minded.

Love me with thine loitering foot,-
Hearing one behind it.

Love me with thy voice, that turns
Sudden faint above me ;

Love me with thy blush that burns
When I murmur 66 Love me!"

Love me with thy thinking soul—
Break it to love-sighing;
Love me with thy thoughts that roll
On through living-dying.

Love me in thy gorgeous airs,

When the world has crowned thee! Love me, kneeling at thy prayers,

With the angels round thee.

Love me pure, as musers do,
Up the woodlands shady.

Love me gaily, fast, and true,
As a winsome lady.

Through all hopes that keep us brave,

Farther off or nigher,

Love me for the house and grave,—
And for something higher.

Thus, if thou wilt prove me, dear,
Woman's love no fable,

I will love thee-half-a-year-
As a man is able.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

PORPHYRIA'S LOVER

'HE rain set early in to-night,

THE

The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake,
I listened with heart fit to break,
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,

And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me-she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me for ever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain ;
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Proud very proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew