588. Sonnets from the Portuguese XI

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806—1861)

  AND therefore if to love can be desert,

  I am not all unworthy. Cheeks as pale

  As these you see, and trembling knees that fail

  To bear the burden of a heavy heart,—

  This weary minstrel-life that once was girt

  To climb Aornus, and can scarce avail

  To pipe now ’gainst the valley nightingale

  A melancholy music,—why advert

  To these things? O Belovèd, it is plain

  I am not of thy worth nor for thy place!

  And yet, because I love thee, I obtain

  From that same love this vindicating grace,

  To live on still in love, and yet in vain,—

  To bless thee, yet renounce thee to thy face.