Sonnets from the Portuguese
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1850
A Victorian poet, ill and isolated, writes her way through the terror of being loved by a man who will not look away.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
1806–1861
Elizabeth Barrett was a celebrated poet long before she met Robert Browning; her father disinherited her after their secret marriage in 1846, and she never saw him again.
Feels like longing, love and tenderness.
What it costs to hand someone the ashes of your grief.
I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,As once Electra her sepulchral urn,And, looking in thine eyes, I overturnThe ashes at thy feet. Behold and seeWhat a great heap of grief lay hid in me,And how the red wild sparkles dimly burnThrough the ashen greyness. If thy foot in scornCould tread them out to darkness utterly,It might be well perhaps. But if insteadThou wait beside me for the wind to blowThe grey dust up—those laurels on thine head,O my Beloved, will not shield thee so,That none of all the fires shall scorch and shredThe hair beneath. Stand further off then! Go. Books by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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