Poetry for Sunday

I meant to post this earlier, but here is a portion of Elizabeth Barrett-Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese for the weekend. I particularly like these sonnets.

XXXIX

Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace

To look through and behind this mask of me

(Against which years have beat thus blanchingly

With their rains), and behold my soul's true face,

The dim and weary witness of life's race,---

Because thou hast the faith and love to see,

Through that same soul's distracting lethargy,

The patient angel waiting for a place

In the new Heavens,---because nor sin nor woe,

Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighbourhood,

Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,

Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,---

Nothing repels thee, . . . Dearest, teach me so

To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!

XL

Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!

I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth.

I have heard love talked in my early youth,

And since, not so long back but that the flowers

Then gathered, smell still. Mussulmans and Giaours

Throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth

For any weeping. Polypheme's white tooth

Slips on the nut if, after frequent showers,

The shell is over-smooth,---and not so much

Will turn the thing called love, aside to hate

Or else to oblivion. But thou art not such

A lover, my Belovèd! thou canst wait

Through sorrow and sickness, to bring souls to touch,

And think it soon when others cry 'Too late.'

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 mart's

Or temple's occupation, beyond call.

But thou, who, in my voice's sink and fall

When the sob took it, thy divinest Art's

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 soul's full meaning into future years,

That they should lend it utterance, and salute

Love that endures, from Life that disappears!

Sonnets from the Portuguese

- Elizabeth Barrett-Browning