Tuesday, August 24, 2010


Sonnet XVIII
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I never gave a lock of hair away
To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,
Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully,
I ring out to the full brown length and say
' Take it.' My day of youth went yesterday;
My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee,
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree,
As girls do, any more: it only may
Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears,
Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside
Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral-shears
Would take this first, but Love is justified,--
Take it thou,--finding pure, from all those years,
The kiss my mother left here when she died.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

The Lost Mistress


Lost Mistress, The
by Robert Browning

I.

All's over, then: does truth sound bitter

As one at first believes?
Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night twitter
About your cottage eaves!

II.


And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,

I noticed that, to-day;
One day more bursts them open fully
---You know the red turns grey.

III.


To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest?

May I take your hand in mine?
Mere friends are we,---well, friends the merest
Keep much that I resign:

IV.


For each glance of the eye so bright and black,

Though I keep with heart's endeavour,---
Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back,
Though it stay in my soul for ever!---

V.


Yet I will but say what mere friends say,

Or only a thought stronger;
I will hold your hand but as long as all may,
Or so very little longer!


Saturday, August 07, 2010

Ode to Solitude

Ode on Solitude
by Alexander Pope

Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.

Whose heards with milk, whose fields with bread,

Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Blest! who can unconcern'dly find

Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease

Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;

Thus unlamented let me dye;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lye.