Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867.
XIV. Indeed this very love which is my boastMrs. Elizabeth Barrett Browning (18061861)
(From Sonnets from the Portuguese)
I
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow
To draw men’s eyes, and prove the inner cost,—
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, unless that thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak
Of love even, as a good thing of my own.
Thy soul hath snatched up mine, all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne;
And that I love (O soul, I must be meek!),
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.