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Há 2 dias · The magi of the East, in sandals worn, Knelt reverent, sweeping round, With long pale beards, their gifts upon the ground, The incense, myrrh, and gold. These baby hands were impotent to hold: So let all earthlies and celestials wait. Upon thy royal state. Sleep, sleep, my kingly One! Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
Há 3 dias · Sonnet 28 - My Letters! All Dead Paper, Mute And White! XXVIII. My letters! all dead paper, mute and white! And yet they seem alive and quivering. Against my tremulous hands which loose the string. And let them drop down on my knee to- night. This said,-he wished to have me in his sight. Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring.
Há 4 dias · Of the sweet years, the dear and wish'd-for years, Who each one in a gracious hand appears. To bear a gift for mortals old or young: And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, I saw in gradual vision through my tears. The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years--. Those of my own life, who by turns had flung. A shadow across me.
Há 1 dia · Sonnet 20 - Beloved, My Beloved, When I Think. XX. Beloved, my Beloved, when I think. That thou wast in the world a year ago, What time I sat alone here in the snow. And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink. No moment at thy voice, but, link by link, Went counting all my chains as if that so. They never could fall off at any blow.
Há 5 dias · XVIII. I never gave a lock of hair away. To a man, Dearest, except this to thee, Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully, I ring out to the full brown length and say. 'Take it.'. My day of youth went yesterday; My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee,
Há 5 dias · Sonnet 11 - And Therefore If To Love Can Be Desert. XI. 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.
Há 5 dias · O blissful Mouth which breathed the mournful breath. We name our souls, self-spoilt!-by that strong passion. Which paled Thee once with sighs,-by that strong death. Which made Thee once unbreathing-from the wrack. Themselves have called around them, call them back, Back to Thee in continuous aspiration! For here, O Lord,
