Volume Ii Part 177 (2/2)

X Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright, Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed: And love is fire. And when I say at need I love thee... mark!... I love thee--in thy sight I stand transfigured, glorified aright, With conscience of the new rays that proceed Out of my face toward thine. There's nothing low In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures Who love G.o.d, G.o.d accepts while loving so.

And what I feel, across the inferior features Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show How that great work of Love enhances Nature's.

XII Indeed this very love which is my boast, And which, when rising up from breast to brow, Doth crown me with a ruby large enow To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost,-- This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost, I should not love withal, unless that thou Hadst set me an example, shown me how, When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed, And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak Of love even, as a good thing of my own: Thy soul hath s.n.a.t.c.hed up mine all faint and weak, And placed it by thee on a golden throne,-- And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!) Is by thee only, whom I love alone.

XIV If thou must love me, let it be for naught Except for love's sake only. Do not say ”I love her for her smile--her look--her way Of speaking gently,--for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day”-- For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,-- A creature might 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.

XVII My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes G.o.d set between His After and Before, And strike up and strike off the general roar Of the rus.h.i.+ng worlds a melody that floats In a serene air purely. Antidotes Of medicated music, answering for Mankind's forlornest uses, thou canst pour From thence into their ears. G.o.d's will devotes Thine to such ends, and mine to wait on thine.

How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use?

A hope, to sing by gladly? or a fine Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse?

A shade, in which to sing--of palm or pine?

A grave, on which to rest from singing? Choose.

XVIII I never gave a lock of hair away To a man, Dearest, except this to thee, Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully I ring out to the full brown length and say ”Take it.” My day of youth went yesterday; My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee, Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree, As girls do, any more: it only may Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears, Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral-shears Would take this first, but Love is justified,-- Take it thou,--finding pure, from all those years, The kiss my mother left here when she died.

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 doubt's 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.

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 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.

XXVIII My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!

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 G.o.d'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!

x.x.xVIII First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And ever since, it grew more clean and white, Slow to world-greetings, quick with its ”Oh, list,”

When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here, plainer to my sight, Than that first kiss. The second pa.s.sed in height The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed, Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!

That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown, With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.

The third upon my lips was folded down In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed, I have been proud, and said, ”My love, my own!”

XLIII How 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 everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the pa.s.sion 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 G.o.d choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861]

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