I THOUGHT once how Theocritus had sung
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. Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,
'Guess now who holds thee?'--'Death,' I said. But there
The silver answer rang--'Not Death, but Love.'
More verses by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
- Sonnet 35 - If I Leave All For Thee, Wilt Thou Exchange
- To Flush, My Dog
- Sonnet 22 - When Our Two Souls Stand Up Erect And Strong
- Sonnet 32 - The First Time That The Sun Rose On Thine Oath
- Sonnet 07 - The Face Of All The World Is Changed, I Think