Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese

iii

GO from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
    Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
    Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
    Serenely in the sunshine as before,
    Without the sense of that which I forbore—
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
    With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
    Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
    And sees within my eyes the tears of two.