Elizabeth Barrett Browning (Ýëèçàáåò Áàððåòò Áðàóíèíã)

Sonnet 13. And Wilt Thou Have Me Fashion Into Speech

And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
The love I bear thee, finding words enough,
And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,
Between our faces, to cast light on each? —
I drop it at thy feet. I cannot teach
My hand to hold my spirit so far off
From myself—me—that I should bring thee proof
In words, of love hid in me out of reach.
Nay, let the silence of my womanhood
Commend my woman-love to thy belief,—
Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed,
And rend the garment of my life, in brief,
By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,
Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief.

1. Sonnet 16. And Yet, Because Thou
2. Grief
3. Sonnet 32. The First Time
4. Sonnet 17. My Poet, Thou Canst Touch
5. Sonnet 15. Accuse Me Not, Beseech Thee, That I Wear

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