Explore "Sonnets from the Portuguese" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The soul's Rialto hath its merchandize; / I barter curl for curl upon that mart, / And from my poet's forehead to my heart / Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,- / As purply black, as erst to Pindar's eyes / The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart / The nine white Muse-brows. For this counterpart, . . .
The bay crown's shade, Belovëd, I surmise, / Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black! / Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath, / I tie the shadows safe from gliding back, / And lay the gift where nothing hindereth; / Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack / No natural heat till mine grows cold in death.