Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 18061861682. Sonnets from the Portuguese i
I THOUGHT once how Theocritus had sung | |
Of the sweet years, the dear and wish’d-for years, | |
Who each one in a gracious hand appears | |
To bear a gift for mortals old or young: | |
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, | 5 |
I saw in gradual vision through my tears | |
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years— | |
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung | |
A shadow across me. Straightway I was ‘ware, | |
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move | 10 |
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair; | |
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, | |
‘Guess now who holds thee?’—’Death,’ I said. But there | |
The silver answer rang—’Not Death, but Love.’ |