Explore "Sonnets from the Portuguese" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make / Of all that strong divineness which I know / For thine and thee, an image only so / Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and break.
It is that distant years which did not take / Thy sovranty, recoiling with a blow, / Have forced my swimming brain to undergo / Their doubt and dread, and blindly to forsake / Thy purity of likeness and distort / Thy worthiest love to a worthless counterfeit.