582. Sonnets from the Portuguese V

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806—1861)

  I LIFT my heavy heart up solemnly,

  As once Electra her sepulchral urn,

  And looking in thine eyes, I overturn

  The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see

  What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,

  And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn

  Through the ashen grayness. If thy foot in scorn

  Could tread them out to darkness utterly,

  It might be well perhaps. But if instead

  Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow

  The gray dust up,… those laurels on thine head,

  O my Belovèd, will not shield thee so,

  That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred

  The hair beneath. Stand farther off then! go.