Poem by Elizabeth Barrett-Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese. 19. The soul’s Rialto hath its merchandize

The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise;
I barter curl for curl upon that mart,
And from my poet's forehead to my heart
Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,—
As purply black, as erst to Pindar's eyes
The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart
The nine white Muse-brows. For this counterpart, . . .
The bay-crown's shade, Beloved, I surmise,
Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black!
Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath,
I tie the shadows safe from gliding back,
And lay the gift where nothing hindereth;
Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack
No natural heat till mine grows cold in death. 

1. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 20. Belovëd, my Belovëd, when I think
2. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 12. Indeed this very love which is my boast
3. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 30. I see thine image through my tears to-night
4. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 11. And therefore if to love can be desert
5. To Flush, My Dog

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