Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXVII

My own Belovèd, who hast lifted meFrom this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,And, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blownA life-breath, till the forehead hopefullyShines out again, as all the angels see,Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own,Who camest to me when the world was gone,And I who looked for only God, found thee!I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad.As one who stands in dewless asphodel,Looks backward on the tedious time he hadIn the upper life,-so I, with bosom-swell,Make witness, here, between the good and bad,That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well.