Explore "Sonnets from the Portuguese" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead, / Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine? / And would the sun for thee more coldly shine / Because of grave-damps falling round my head? / I marvelled, my Belovëd, when I read / Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine- / But. so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine / While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead / Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range.
Then, love me, Love! look on me-breathe on me! / As brighter ladies do not count it strange, / For love, to give up acres and degree, / I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange / My near sweet view of heaven, for earth with thee!