Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hearThe name I used to run at, when a child,From innocent play, and leave the cowslips piled,To glance up in some face that proved me dearWith the look of its eyes. I miss the clearFond voices which, being drawn and reconciledInto the music of Heaven's undefiled,Call me no longer. Silence on the bier,While I call God-call God!-So let thy mouthBe heir to those who are now exanimate.Gather the north flowers to complete the south,And catch the early love up in the late.Yes, call me by that name,-and I, in truth,With the same heart, will answer and not wait.
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXXIIIwritten by
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning