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!
Sonnets From The Portuguese Xxviii
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Poem topics: friend, future, god, heart, light, night, spring, dear, white, fast, touch, simple, repeat, Valentine's Day, thine, paper, love, I love you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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