Explore "Sonnets from the Portuguese" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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 snatched 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.