596. Sonnets from the Portuguese XIX

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806—1861)

  THE SOUL’S Rialto hath its merchandise;

  I barter curl for curl upon that mart,

  And from my poet’s forehead to my heart

  Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,—

  As purply black, as erst to Pindar’s eyes

  The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart

  The nine white Muse-brows. For this counterpart,

  The bay-crown’s shade, Belovèd, I surmise,

  Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black!

  Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath,

  I tie the shadows safe from gliding back,

  And lay the gift where nothing hindereth;

  Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack

  No natural heat till mine grows cold in death.