➵ [Reading] ➷ Sonnets from the Portuguese By Elizabeth Barrett Browning ➪ – Saudionline.co.uk

Sonnets from the Portuguese pdf Sonnets from the Portuguese, ebook Sonnets from the Portuguese, epub Sonnets from the Portuguese, doc Sonnets from the Portuguese, e-pub Sonnets from the Portuguese, Sonnets from the Portuguese 83e2e226e21 Elizabeth Barrett Browning Was A Prolific Writer And Reviewer In The Victorian Period, And In Her Lifetime, Her Reputation As A Poet Was At Least As Great As That Of Her Husband, Poet Robert Browning Some Of Her Poetry Has Been Noted In Recent Years For Strong Feminist Themes, But The Poems For Which Elizabeth Barrett Browning Is Undoubtedly Best Know Are Sonnets From The PortugueseWritten For Robert Browning, Who Had Affectionately Nicknamed Her His Little Portuguese, The Sequence Is A Celebration Of Marriage, And Of One Of The Most Famous Romances Of The Nineteenth Century Recognized For Their Victorian Tradition And Discipline, These Are Some Of The Most Passionate And Memorable Love Poems In The English Language There Are Forty Four Poems In The Collection, Including The Very Beautiful Sonnet, How Do I Love Thee Let Me Count The Ways


10 thoughts on “Sonnets from the Portuguese

  1. says:

    Elizabeth Barrett wrote these 44 love sonnets during her courtship with poet Robert Browning After their marriage he convinced her to publish them, calling them the best English language love sonnets since Shakespeare s day.This is sonnet XXVIII, one of my favorites My letters All dead paper, mute and white And yet they seem alive and quiveringAgainst my tremulous hands which lose the stringAnd let them drop down on my knee tonight.This said He wished to have me in his sightOnce, as a friend This fixed a day in springTo come and touch my handa simple thing,Yet I wept for it Thisthe paper s lightSaid, Dear I love thee and I sank and quailedAs if God s future thundered on my past.This said, I am thine and so it s ink has paledWith lying at my heart that beat too fast.And thisO Love, thy words have I ll availedIf, what this said, I dared repeat at last.


  2. says:

    Christ I don t even know what to say, here How do I love thee Let me count the ways I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace I love thee to the level of everyday s Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight I love thee freely, as men strive for Right I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood s faith I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.Sonnets from the Portuguese are love sonnets written by Elizabeth Barrett from 1845 through her secret marriage to Robert Browning in 1846 The title is from Browning s nickname for her my little Portuguese.The emotion and passion practically spills from the pages This woman knew what to do with words, how to so eloquently convey her feeling so effortlessly.Beautiful Genius.


  3. says:

    44 love sonnets by Elizabeth Barrett Browning written with Robert Browning in mind, they were secretly dating before they eloped The most famous of the 44 is Sonnet 43 How do I love thee Let me count the ways I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace I love thee to the level of every day s Most quiet need, by sun and candle light I love thee freely, as men strive for right I love thee purely, as they turn from praise I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood s faith I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death Together the sonnets are a portrayal of a rich and devotional love, a love that is a tonic to feeling alive again The first sonnet starts with a sense of foreboding but ends with Those of my own life, who by turns had flungA shadow across me Straightway I was ware,So weeping, how a mystic Shape did moveBehind me, and drew me backward by the hair And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, Guess now who holds thee Death, I said, But, there,The silver answer rang, Not Death, but Love The story of how this work came to be published is just as romantic Soon after Elizabeth Barrett Browning marries Robert Browning, she nervously shows them to him, an established poet himself When he finishes reading them, he is astounded by the skills and talent it shows believing it surpasses his own and insists they are published They were married for 15 years before she passed prematurely from a long standing illness.


  4. says:

    XXIIIIs it indeed so If I lay here dead,Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine And would the sun for thee coldly shineBecause of grave dumps falling round my head I marveled, my Belov d, when I readThy thought so in the letter I am thine But so much to thee Can I pour thy wineWhile my hands tremble Then my soul, insteadOf dreams of death, resumes life s lower range.Then, love me, Love Look on me breathe on me As brighter ladies do not count it strange,For love, to give up acres and degree,I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchangeMy near sweet view of heaven, for earth with thee


  5. says:

    I I thought once how Theocritus had sung Of the sweet years, the dear and wished for years, Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me.A couple of lines I liked couldn t find All love sonnets and the natural inability to connect with them Too much sugar for me.Dec 5, 18


  6. says:

    I ve got this in audio and thoroughly enjoyed listening Its beautiful poetry, that stream of conscientiousness flows within Browning s text.Quote How do I love thee, let me count the ways, I love thee to the depth, breadth, and height, my soul can reach Sonnet 43


  7. says:

    How do i count the ways i love this books..i give this tome of poems instead of a wedding card i used it when i started to date my husband, to introduce him to the beauty of poetry he is a computer geek and had never read for personal enjoyment, before meeting me in fact, reading a passage in a 1850 s journal moved to such emotion, he popped the question to me crying i read this book at least annually.the brides all love this instead of a card.


  8. says:

    II thought once how Theocritus had sungOf the sweet years, the dear and wished for years,Who each one in a gracious hand appearsTo bear a gift for mortals, old or young And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,Those of my own life, who by turns had flungA shadow across me Straightway I was ware,So weeping, how a mystic Shape did moveBehind me, and drew me backward by the hair And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, Guess now who holds thee Death, I said, But, there,The silver answer rang, Not Death, but Love IIBut only three in all God s universeHave heard this word thou hast said, Himself, besideThee speaking, and me listening and repliedOne of us that was God, and laid the curseSo darkly on my eyelids, as to amerceMy sight from seeing thee, that if I had died,The death weights, placed there, would have signifiedLess absolute exclusion Nay is worseFrom God than from all others, O my friend Men could not part us with their worldly jars,Nor the seas change us, nor the tempests bend Our hands would touch for all the mountain bars And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,We should but vow the faster for the stars.IIIUnlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart Unlike our uses and our destinies.Our ministering two angels look surpriseOn one another, as they strike athwartTheir wings in passing Thou, bethink thee, artA guest for queens to social pageantries,With gages from a hundred brighter eyesThan tears even can make mine, to play thy partOf chief musician What hast thou to doWith looking from the lattice lights at me,A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing throughThe dark, and leaning up a cypress tree The chrism is on thine head, on mine, the dew, And Death must dig the level where these agree.IVThou hast thy calling to some palace floor,Most gracious singer of high poems whereThe dancers will break footing, from the careOf watching up thy pregnant lips for .And dost thou lift this house s latch too poorFor hand of thine and canst thou think and bearTo let thy music drop here unawareIn folds of golden fulness at my door Look up and see the casement broken in,The bats and owlets builders in the roof My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.Hush, call no echo up in further proofOf desolation there s a voice withinThat weeps as thou must sing alone, aloof.VI lift my heavy heart up solemnly,As once Electra her sepulchral urn,And, looking in thine eyes, I over turnThe ashes at thy feet Behold and seeWhat a great heap of grief lay hid in me,And how the red wild sparkles dimly burnThrough the ashen greyness If thy foot in scornCould tread them out to darkness utterly,It might be well perhaps But if insteadThou wait beside me for the wind to blowThe grey dust up, those laurels on thine head,O my Belov d, will not shield thee so,That none of all the fires shall scorch and shredThe hair beneath Stand further off then go VIGo from me Yet I feel that I shall standHenceforward in thy shadow NeverAlone upon the threshold of my doorOf individual life, I shall commandThe uses of my soul, nor lift my handSerenely in the sunshine as before,Without the sense of that which I forbore Thy touch upon the palm The widest landDoom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mineWith pulses that beat double What I doAnd what I dream include thee, as the wineMust taste of its own grapes And when I sueGod for myself, He hears that name of thine,And sees within my eyes the tears of two.VIIThe face of all the world is changed, I think,Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soulMove still, oh, still, beside me, as they stoleBetwixt me and the dreadful outer brinkOf obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,Was caught up into love, and taught the wholeOf life in a new rhythm The cup of doleGod gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.The names of country, heaven, are changed awayFor where thou art or shalt be, there or here And this this lute and song loved yesterday, The singing angels know are only dearBecause thy name moves right in what they say.VIIIWhat can I give thee back, O liberalAnd princely giver, who hast brought the goldAnd purple of thine heart, unstained, untold,And laid them on the outside of the wallFor such as I to take or leave withal,In unexpected largesse am I cold,Ungrateful, that for these most manifoldHigh gifts, I render nothing back at all Not so not cold, but very poor instead.Ask God who knows For frequent tears have runThe colours from my life, and left so deadAnd pale a stuff, it were not fitly doneTo give the same as pillow to thy head.Go farther let it serve to trample on.IXCan it be right to give what I can give To let thee sit beneath the fall of tearsAs salt as mine, and hear the sighing yearsRe sighing on my lips renunciativeThrough those infrequent smiles which fail to liveFor all thy adjurations O my fears,That this can scarce be right We are not peersSo to be lovers and I own, and grieve,That givers of such gifts as mine are, mustBe counted with the ungenerous Out, alas I will not soil thy purple with my dust,Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice glass,Nor give thee any love which were unjust.Beloved, I only love thee let it pass.XYet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeedAnd worthy of acceptation Fire is bright,Let temple burn, or flax an equal lightLeaps in the flame from cedar plank or weed And love is fire And when I say at needI love thee mark I love thee in thy sightI stand transfigured, glorified aright,With conscience of the new rays that proceedOut of my face toward thine There s nothing lowIn love, when love the lowest meanest creaturesWho love God, God accepts while loving so.And what I feel, across the inferior featuresOf what I am, doth flash itself, and showHow that great work of Love enhances Nature s.XIAnd therefore if to love can be desert,I am not all unworthy Cheeks as paleAs these you see, and trembling knees that failTo bear the burden of a heavy heart, This weary minstrel life that once was girtTo climb Aornus, and can scarce availTo pipe now gainst the valley nightingaleA melancholy music, why advertTo these things O Belov d, it is plainI am not of thy worth nor for thy place And yet, because I love thee, I obtainFrom that same love this vindicating graceTo live on still in love, and yet in vain, To bless thee, yet renounce thee to thy face.XIIIndeed this very love which is my boast,And which, when rising up from breast to brow,Doth crown me with a ruby large enowTo draw men s eyes and prove the inner cost, This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,I should not love withal, unless that thouHadst set me an example, shown me how,When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,And love called love And thus, I cannot speakOf love even, as a good thing of my own Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,And placed it by thee on a golden throne, And that I love O soul, we must be meek Is by thee only, whom I love alone.XIIIAnd wilt thou have me fashion into speechThe love I bear thee, finding words enough,And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,Between our faces, to cast light on each I drop it at thy feet I cannot teachMy hand to hold my spirits so far offFrom myself me that I should bring thee proofIn words, of love hid in me out of reach.Nay, let the silence of my womanhoodCommend my woman love to thy belief, Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed,And rend the garment of my life, in brief,By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief.XIVIf thou must love me, let it be for noughtExcept for love s sake only Do not say I love her for her smile her look her wayOf speaking gently, for a trick of thoughtThat falls in well with mine, and certes broughtA sense of pleasant ease on such a day For these things in themselves, Belov d, mayBe changed, or change for thee, and love, so wrought,May be unwrought so Neither love me forThine own dear pity s wiping my cheeks dry, A creature might forget to weep, who boreThy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby But love me for love s sake, that everThou may st love on, through love s eternity.XVAccuse me not, beseech thee, that I wearToo calm and sad a face in front of thine For we two look two ways, and cannot shineWith the same sunlight on our brow and hair.On me thou lookest with no doubting care,As on a bee shut in a crystalline Since sorrow hath shut me safe in love s divine,And to spread wing and fly in the outer airWere most impossible failure, if I stroveTo fail so But I look on thee on thee Beholding, besides love, the end of love,Hearing oblivion beyond memory As one who sits and gazes from above,Over the rivers to the bitter sea.XVIAnd yet, because thou overcomest so,Because thou art noble and like a king,Thou canst prevail against my fears and flingThy purple round me, till my heart shall growToo close against thine heart henceforth to knowHow it shook when alone Why, conqueringMay prove as lordly and complete a thingIn lifting upward, as in crushing low And as a vanquished soldier yields his swordTo one who lifts him from the bloody earth,Even so, Belov d, I at last record,Here ends my strife If thou invite me forth,I rise above abasement at the word.Make thy love larger to enlarge my worth XVIIMy poet, thou canst touch on all the notesGod set between His After and Before,And strike up and strike off the general roarOf the rushing worlds a melody that floatsIn a serene air purely AntidotesOf medicated music, answering forMankind s forlornest uses, thou canst pourFrom thence into their ears God s will devotesThine to such ends, and mine to wait on thine.How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use A hope, to sing by gladly or a fineSad memory, with thy songs to interfuse A shade, in which to sing of palm or pine A grave, on which to rest from singing Choose.XVIIII never gave a lock of hair awayTo a man, Dearest, except this to thee,Which now upon my fingers thoughtfullyI ring out to the full brown length and say Take it My day of youth went yesterday My hair no longer bounds to my foot s glee,Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle tree,As girls do, any it only mayNow shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears,Taught drooping from the head that hangs asideThrough sorrow s trick I thought the funeral shearsWould take this first, but Love is justified, Take it thou, finding pure, from all those years,The kiss my mother left here when she died.XIXThe soul s Rialto hath its merchandize I barter curl for curl upon that mart,And from my poet s forehead to my heartReceive this lock which outweighs argosies, As purply black, as erst to Pindar s eyesThe dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwartThe nine white Muse brows For this counterpart, .The bay crown s shade, Belov d, I surmise,Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black Thus, with a fillet of smooth kissing breath,I tie the shadows safe from gliding back,And lay the gift where nothing hindereth Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lackNo natural heat till mine grows cold in death.XXBelov d, my Belov d, when I thinkThat thou wast in the world a year ago,What time I sat alone here in the snowAnd saw no footprint, heard the silence sinkNo moment at thy voice, but, link by link,Went counting all my chains as if that soThey never could fall off at any blowStruck by thy possible hand, why, thus I drinkOf life s great cup of wonder Wonderful,Never to feel thee thrill the day or nightWith personal act or speech, nor ever cullSome prescience of thee with the blossoms whiteThou sawest growing Atheists are as dull,Who cannot guess God s presence out of sight.XXISay over again, and yet once over again,That thou dost love me Though the word repeatedShould seem a cuckoo song, as thou dost treat it,Remember, never to the hill or plain,Valley and wood, without her cuckoo strainComes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.Belov d, I, amid the darkness greetedBy a doubtful spirit voice, in that doubt s painCry, Speak once thou lovest Who can fearToo many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year Say thou dost love me, love me, love me tollThe silver iterance only minding, Dear,To love me also in silence with thy soul.XXIIWhen our two souls stand up erect and strong,Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,Until the lengthening wings break into fireAt either curv d point, what bitter wrongCan the earth do to us, that we should not longBe here contented Think In mounting higher,The angels would press on us and aspireTo drop some golden orb of perfect songInto our deep, dear silence Let us stayRather on earth, Belov d, where the unfitContrarious moods of men recoil awayAnd isolate pure spirits, and permitA place to stand and love in for a day,With darkness and the death hour rounding it.XXIIIIs it indeed so If I lay here dead,Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine And would the sun for thee coldly shineBecause of grave damps falling round my head I marvelled, my Belov d, when I readThy thought so in the letter I am thine But so much to thee Can I pour thy wineWhile my hands tremble Then my soul, insteadOf dreams of death, resumes life s lower range.Then, love me, Love look on me breathe on me As brighter ladies do not count it strange,For love, to give up acres and degree,I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchangeMy near sweet view of heaven, for earth with thee XXIVLet the world s sharpness like a clasping knifeShut in upon itself and do no harmIn this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,And let us hear no sound of human strifeAfter the click of the shutting Life to life I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,And feel as safe as guarded by a charmAgainst the stab of worldlings, who if rifeAre weak to injure Very whitely stillThe lilies of our lives may reassureTheir blossoms from their roots, accessibleAlone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer Growing straight, out of man s reach, on the hill.God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.XXVA heavy heart, Belov d, have I borneFrom year to year until I saw thy face,And sorrow after sorrow took the placeOf all those natural joys as lightly wornAs the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turnBy a beating heart at dance time Hopes apaceWere changed to long despairs, till God s own graceCould scarcely lift above the world forlornMy heavy heart Then thou didst bid me bringAnd let it drop adown thy calmly greatDeep being Fast it sinketh, as a thingWhich its own nature does precipitate,While thine doth close above it, mediatingBetwixt the stars and the unaccomplished fate.XXVII lived with visions for my companyInstead of men and women, years ago,And found them gentle mates, nor thought to knowA sweeter music than they played to me.But soon their trailing purple was not freeOf this world s dust, their lutes did silent grow,And I myself grew faint and blind belowTheir vanishing eyes Then thou didst come to be,Belov d, what they seemed Their shining fronts,Their songs, their splendours, better, yet the same,As river water hallowed into fonts Met in thee, and from out thee overcameMy soul with satisfaction of all wants Because God s gifts put man s best dreams to shame.XXVIIMy own Belov d, 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.XXVIIIMy letters all dead paper, mute and white And yet they seem alive and quiveringAgainst my tremulous hands which loose the stringAnd let them drop down on my knee to night.This said, he wished to have me in his sightOnce, as a friend this fixed a day in springTo come and touch my hand a simple thing,Yet I wept for it this, the paper s light .Said, Dear I love thee and I sank and quailedAs if God s future thundered on my past.This said, I am thine and so its ink has paledWith lying at my heart that beat too fast.And this O Love, thy words have ill availedIf, what this said, I dared repeat at last XXIXI think of thee my thoughts do twine and budAbout thee, as wild vines, about a tree,Put out broad leaves, and soon there s nought to seeExcept the straggling green which hides the wood.Yet, O my palm tree, be it understoodI will not have my thoughts instead of theeWho art dearer, better Rather, instantlyRenew thy presence as a strong tree should,Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee,Drop heavily down, burst, shattered everywhere Because, in this deep joy to see and hear theeAnd breathe within thy shadow a new air,I do not think of thee I am too near thee.XXXI see thine image through my tears to night,And yet to day I saw thee smiling HowRefer the cause Belov d, 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.Belov d, 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 XXXIThou comest all is said without a word.I sit beneath thy looks, as children doIn the noon sun, with souls that tremble throughTheir happy eyelids from an unaverredYet prodigal inward joy Behold, I erredIn that last doubt and yet I cannot rueThe sin most, but the occasion that we twoShould for a moment stand unministeredBy a mutual presence Ah, keep near and close,Thou dove like help and when my fears would rise,With thy broad heart serenely interpose Brood down with thy divine sufficienciesThese thoughts which tremble when bereft of those,Like callow birds left desert to the skies.Read the full text here


  9. says:

    Sonnets from the Portuguese first of all, n o til se voc quer praticar o portugu s This book will in no way prepare you for the ordering of a gal o in some Lisbon caf In fact, portuguese was a pet name Browning s secret husband used for her The title also refers to the sonnets of the 16th century Portuguese poet Lu s de Cam es in all these poems Elizabethe uses rhyme schemes typical of the Portuguese sonnets Here is one of my favourites If thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love s sake only Do not say, I love her for her smile her look her way Of speaking gently, for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day For these things in themselves, Belov d, may Be changed, or change for thee and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so Neither love me for Thine own dear pity s wiping my cheeks dry A creature might forget to weep, who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby But love me for love s sake, that ever Thou mayst love on, through love s eternity.The collection also features the famous How do I love thee Let me count the ways .


  10. says:

    My ex girlfriend, Ashleigh, gave this to me years ago, before she was forced by her family to marry this guy Long story but she sent this book to me and signed the inside Next to Shakespeare, this is the most bittersweet and poeticpoems of love that I have ever read It was said that a husband and wife team wrote these so one can only imagine how passionate their marriage was, huh


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