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 ... Said, Dear I love thee; and I sank and quailed. As if God's future thundered on my past. This said, I am thine -- and so its ink has paled. With lying at my heart that beat too fast. And this ... O Love, thy words have ill availed. If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: english
- Born: March 6, 1806
- Died: June 29, 1861
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