Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
Sonnets from the Portuguese, XIII

And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
The love I bear thee, finding words enough,
And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,
Between our faces, to cast light upon each?

I drop it at thy feet. I cannot teach
My hand to hold my spirit so far off
From myself.. me.. that I should bring thee proof,
In words of love hid in me... out of reach.

Nay, let the silence of my womanhood
Commend 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.

Love is, above all, the gift of oneself. - Jean Anouilh,

When I am sad and weary. When I think all hope has gone.
When I walk along High Holborn, I think of you with nothing on .
Adrian Mitchell

Those have most power to hurt us that we love. - Francis Beaumont,

About us. General queries and emails to

Love is, above all, the gift of oneself. - Jean Anouilh,

When I am sad and weary. When I think all hope has gone.
When I walk along High Holborn, I think of you with nothing on .
Adrian Mitchell

Those have most power to hurt us that we love. - Francis Beaumont,

About us. General queries and emails to

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sonnets from the Portuguese, XIII

Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
Sonnets from the Portuguese, XIII