Sonnet 41 - I thank all who have loved me in their hearts
XLI
I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all
Who paused a little near the prison-wall
To hear my music in its louder parts
Ere they went onward, each one to the marts
Or temples occupation, beyond call.
But thou, who, in my voices sink and fall
When the sob took it, thy divinest Arts
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot
To hearken what I said between my tears, . . .
Instruct me how to thank thee! Oh, to shoot
My souls full meaning into future years,
That they should lend it utterance, and salute
Love that endures, from Life that disappears!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet 42 - My future will not copy fair my past
XLII
My future will not copy fair my past—
I wrote that once; and thinking at my side
My ministering life-angel justified
The word by his appealing look upcast
To the white throne of God, I turned at last,
And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied
To angels in thy soul! Then I, long tried
By natural ills, received the comfort fast,
While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrims staff
Gave out green leaves with morning dews impearled.
I seek no copy now of lifes first half:
Leave here the pages with long musing curled,
And write me new my futures epigraph,
New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet 43 - How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
XLIII
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everydays
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhoods faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet 44 - Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
XLIV
Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my hearts ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet heres eglantine,
Here s ivy!—take them, as I used to do
Thy fowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true,
And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning