Sonnet Xxxviii
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And ever since, it grew more clean and white, Slow to world-greetings, quick with its ' Oh, list,' When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here, plainer to my sight, Than that first kiss. The second passed in height The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed, Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed ! That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown, With sanctifying sweetness, did precede. The third upon my lips was folded down In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed, I have been proud and said, ' My love, my own.'
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Previous 10 Poems
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning : Sonnet Xxxvii
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning : Sonnet Xxxvi
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning : Sonnet Xxxv
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning : Sonnet Xxxix
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning : Sonnet Xxxiv
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning : Sonnet Xxxiii
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning : Sonnet Xxxii
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning : Sonnet Xxxi
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning : Sonnet Xxx
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning : Sonnet Xxviii