Boden 

Full desertness Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death-- In everlasting watch and moveless woe touch.html">Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet: Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 1806-1861.html">1861 682. Sonnets from the Portuguese Of the sweet years, the dear and wish'd-for years, To bear a gift for mortals old or young: I saw in gradual vision through my tears.html">tears Those of my own life, who by turns had flung So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, The silver answer rang--'Not Death, but love.html">Love.' ii UNLIKE are we, unlike, O princely Heart! Our ministering two angels look surprise Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art With gages from a hundred brighter eyes Of chief musician. What hast thou to do A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through The chrism is on thine head--on mine the dew-- Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 1806-1861 684. Sonnets from the Portuguese Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore Of individual life I shall command Serenely in the sunshine as before, Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land With pulses that beat double. What I do Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue And sees within my eyes the tears of two. iv IF thou must love me, let it be for.

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