610. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXXIII

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806—1861)

  YES, call me by my pet-name! let me hear

  The name I used to run at, when a child,

  From innocent play, and leave the cowslips piled,

  To glance up in some face that proved me dear

  With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear

  Fond voices which, being drawn and reconciled

  Into the music of Heaven’s undefiled,

  Call me no longer. Silence on the bier,

  While I call God—call God!—So let thy mouth

  Be heir to those who are now exanimate.

  Gather the north flowers to complete the south,

  And catch the early love up in the late.

  Yes, call me by that name,—and I, in truth,

  With the same heart, will answer and not wait.