Explore "Sonnets from the Portuguese" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
My letters! all dead paper, mute and white! / And yet they seem alive and quivering / Against my tremulous hands which loose the string / And let them drop down on my knee to-night.
This said,-he wished to have me in his sight / Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring / To come and touch my hand... a simple thing, / Yet I wept for it!-this,. the paper's light . . .