"When our two souls stand up erect and
strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and
nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire;
At either curved point, --what bitter wrong;
Can earth do to us, that we should not
long;
Be here contented? Think. In mounting
higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire;
To drop some golden orb of perfect song;
Into our deep, dear silence.
Let us stay rather on earth, Beloved,
--where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour
rounding it"
---Elizabeth Barret Browning
(Sonnets from the Portuguese)
June
22nd
12:58
A.M.
1999