Poem by E.B.Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese iii

.

GO from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand    Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore    Alone upon the threshold of my door Of individual life I shall command The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand    Serenely in the sunshine as before,    Without the sense of that which I forbore-- Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine    With pulses that beat double. What I do And what I dream include thee, as the wine    Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue God for myself, He hears that name of thine,    And sees within my eyes the tears of two. Elizabeth Barrett Browning