Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.

I. Patriotism

Parting Lovers

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861)

I LOVE thee, love thee, Giulio!

Some call me cold, and some demure,

And if thou hast ever guessed that so

I love thee … well;—the proof was poor,

And no one could be sure.

Before thy song (with shifted rhymes

To suit my name) did I undo

The persian? If it moved sometimes,

Thou hast not seen a hand push through

A flower or two.

My mother listening to my sleep

Heard nothing but a sigh at night,—

The short sigh rippling on the deep,—

When hearts run out of breath and sigh

Of men, to God’s clear light.

When others named thee,… thought thy brows

Were straight, thy smile was tender,… “Here

He comes between the vineyard-rows!”—

I said not “Ay,”—nor waited, Dear,

To feel thee step too near.

I left such things to bolder girls,

Olivia or Clotilda. Nay,

When that Clotilda through her curls

Held both thine eyes in hers one day,

I marvelled, let me say.

I could not try the woman’s trick:

Between us straightway fell the blush

Which kept me separate, blind, and sick.

A wind came with thee in a flush,

As blow through Horeb’s bush.

But now that Italy invokes

Her young men to go forth and chase

The foe or perish,—nothing chokes

My voice, or drives me from the place:

I look thee in the face.

I love thee! it is understood,

Confest: I do not shrink or start:

No blushes: all my body’s blood

Has gone to greaten this poor heart,

That, loving, we may part.

Our Italy invokes the youth

To die if need be. Still there ’s room,

Though earth is strained with dead, in truth.

Since twice the lilies were in bloom

They had not grudged a tomb.

And many a plighted maid and wife

And mother, who can say since then

“My country,” cannot say through life

“My son,” “my spouse,” “my flower of men,”

And not weep dumb again.

Heroic males the country bears,

But daughters give up more than sons.

Flags wave, drums beat, and unawares

You flash your souls out with the guns,

And take your heaven at once!

But we,—we empty heart and home

Of life’s life, love! we bear to think

You ’re gone,… to feel you may not come,…

To hear the door-latch stir and clink

Yet no more you,… nor sink.

Dear God! when Italy is one

And perfected from bound to bound,…

Suppose (for my share) earth ’s undone

By one grave in ’t! as one small wound

May kill a man, ’t is found!

What then? If love’s delight must end,

At least we ’ll clear its truth from flaws.

I love thee, love thee, sweetest friend!

Now take my sweetest without pause,

To help the nation’s cause.

And thus of noble Italy

We ’ll both be worthy. Let her show

The future how we made her free,

Not sparing life, nor Giulio,

Nor this … this heart-break. Go!