Explore "Sonnets from the Portuguese" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Belovëd, my Belovëd, when I think / That thou wast in the world a year ago, / What time I sat alone here in the snow / And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink / No moment at thy voice, but, link by link, / Went counting all my chains as if that so / They never could fall off at any blow / Struck by thy possible hand,-why, thus I drink / Of life's great cup of wonder! Wonderful, / Never to feel thee thrill the day or night / With personal act or speech,-nor ever cull / Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white / Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull, / Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight.