590. Sonnets from the Portuguese XIII

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806—1861)

  AND wilt thou have me fashion into speech

  The love I bear thee, finding words enough,

  And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,

  Between our faces, to cast light on each?

  I drop it at thy feet. I cannot teach

  My hand to hold my spirit so far off

  From myself—me—that I should bring thee proof

  In words, of love hid in me out of reach.

  Nay, let the silence of my womanhood

  Commend my woman-love to thy belief,—

  Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed,

  And rend the garment of my life, in brief,

  By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,

  Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief.