Explore "Sarah Brown" by Edgar Lee Masters on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Maurice, weep not, I am not here under this pine tree.
The balmy air of spring whispers through the sweet grass, / The stars sparkle, the whippoorwill calls, / But thou grievest, while my soul lies rapturous / In the blest Nirvana of eternal light!
Go to the good heart that is my husband, / Who broods upon what he calls our guilty love: --
Tell him that my love for you, no less than my love for him, / Wrought out my destiny -- that through the flesh / I won spirit, and through spirit, peace.
There is no marriage in heaven, / But there is love.