Poem by Elizabeth Barrett-Browning

Irreparableness

I HAVE been in the meadows all the day
And gathered there the nosegay that you see
Singing within myself as bird or bee
When such do field-work on a morn of May.
But, now I look upon my flowers, decay
Has met them in my hands more fatally
Because more warmly clasped,--and sobs are free
To come instead of songs. What do you say,
Sweet counsellors, dear friends ? that I should go
Back straightway to the fields and gather more ?
Another, sooth, may do it, but not I !
My heart is very tired, my strength is low,
My hands are full of blossoms plucked before,
Held dead within them till myself shall die. 

1. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 26. I lived with visions for my company
2. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 35. If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
3. The Soul's Expression
4. Lord Walter's Wife
5. A Thought for a Lonely Death-Bed

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