| Poem for Tuesday |
[Feb. 25th, 2003|10:06 am] |
Sonnets from the Portuguese 20
Beloved, My Beloved
By Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Beloved, my Beloved, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sate alone here in the snow
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
No moment at thy voice...but, link by link,
Went counting all my chains, as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand ... why, thus I drink
Of life's great cup of wonder! Wonderful,
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
With personal act or speech,--nor ever cull
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull,
Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight.
I'm still feeling somewhat yucky. But am in an amused mood, because I see that Karl and Viggo were very busy in Japan. And now we know how Karl's fly got unzipped. (Images shamelessly swiped from Bag End Inn and ![[info]](http://www.deadjournal.com:8080/userinfo.gif) ios_pillow_book, click to see larger originals, many thanks.)
Make love, not war.
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