Sonnet 28 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Home / Elizabeth Barrett Browning / Sonnet 28 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee to-night.
This said,—he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To come and touch my hand . . . a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it!—this, . . . the paper’s light . . .
Said, Dear I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if God’s future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine—and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this . . . O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!

That concludes Sonnet 28 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Did you like Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnet 28? Then, rate it below. And don’t forget to like, tweet or share Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnet 28 by using the Facebook and Twitter buttons below.

Rate This Poem

Please Rate This Poem: