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Poem by Elizabeth Barrett-Browning
Sonnets from the Portuguese. 11. And therefore if to love can be desert
And therefore if to love can be desert, I am not all unworthy. Cheeks as pale As these you see, and trembling knees that fail To bear the burden of a heavy heart,— This weary minstrel-life that once was girt To climb Aornus, and can scarce avail To pipe now ’gainst the valley nightingale A melancholy music,—why advert To these things? O Belovëd, it is plain I am not of thy worth nor for thy place! And yet, because I love thee, I obtain From that same love this vindicating grace To live on still in love, and yet in vain,— To bless thee, yet renounce thee to thy face.
Elizabeth Barrett-Browning's other poems:
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