I see thine image through my tears to-night,And yet to-day I saw thee smiling. HowRefer the cause?-Belovèd, is it thouOr I, who makes me sad? The acolyteAmid the chanted joy and thankful riteMay so fall flat, with pale insensate brow,On the altar-stair. I hear thy voice and vow,Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of sight,As he, in his swooning ears, the choir's amen.Belovèd, dost thou love? or did I see allThe glory as I dreamed, and fainted whenToo vehement light dilated my ideal,For my soul's eyes? Will that light come again,As now these tears come-falling hot and real?
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXXwritten by
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning