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Sonnets from the Portuguese
Sonnets from the Portuguese is the collection of love poems written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning in the time leading up to her marriage to Robert Browning. Elizabeth hesitated in publishing the poems, as they were so personally revealing, but her husband persuaded her of their high worth. She decided to pass them off as translations, in order to obscure her authorship, and so the title of the collection came about. They were, and remain, immensely popular.
46 pages, ebook
First published January 1, 1850
About the author
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
1,022 books720 followersElizabeth Barrett Browning was one of the most respected poets of the Victorian era.
Born in County Durham, the eldest of 12 children, Browning was educated at home. She wrote poetry from around the age of six and this was compiled by her mother, comprising what is now one of the largest collections extant of juvenilia by any English writer. At 15 Browning became ill, suffering from intense head and spinal pain for the rest of her life, rendering her frail. She took laudanum for the pain, which may have led to a lifelong addiction and contributed to her weak health.
In the 1830s Barrett's cousin John Kenyon introduced her to prominent literary figures of the day such as William Wordsworth, Mary Russell Mitford, Samuel Taylor Coleridge; Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and Thomas Carlyle. Browning's first adult collection The Seraphim and Other Poems was published in 1838. During this time she contracted a disease, possibly tuberculosis, which weakened her further. Living at Wimpole Street, in London, Browning wrote prolifically between 1841 and 1844, producing poetry, translation and prose. She campaigned for the abolition of slavery and her work helped influence reform in child labour legislation. Her prolific output made her a rival to Tennyson as a candidate for poet laureate on the death of Wordsworth.
Browning's volume Poems (1844) brought her great success. During this time she met and corresponded with the writer Robert Browning, who admired her work. The courtship and marriage between the two were carried out in secret, for fear of her father's disapproval. Following the wedding she was disinherited by her father and rejected by her brothers. The couple moved to Italy in 1846, where she would live for the rest of her life. They had one son, Robert Barrett Browning, whom they called Pen. Towards the end of her life, her lung function worsened, and she died in Florence in 1861. A collection of her last poems was published by her husband shortly after her death.
Browning was brought up in a strongly religious household, and much of her work carries a Christian theme. Her work had a major influence on prominent writers of the day, including the American poets Edgar Allan Poe and Emily Dickinson. She is remembered for such poems as "How Do I Love Thee?" (Sonnet 43, 1845) and Aurora Leigh (1856).
Born in County Durham, the eldest of 12 children, Browning was educated at home. She wrote poetry from around the age of six and this was compiled by her mother, comprising what is now one of the largest collections extant of juvenilia by any English writer. At 15 Browning became ill, suffering from intense head and spinal pain for the rest of her life, rendering her frail. She took laudanum for the pain, which may have led to a lifelong addiction and contributed to her weak health.
In the 1830s Barrett's cousin John Kenyon introduced her to prominent literary figures of the day such as William Wordsworth, Mary Russell Mitford, Samuel Taylor Coleridge; Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and Thomas Carlyle. Browning's first adult collection The Seraphim and Other Poems was published in 1838. During this time she contracted a disease, possibly tuberculosis, which weakened her further. Living at Wimpole Street, in London, Browning wrote prolifically between 1841 and 1844, producing poetry, translation and prose. She campaigned for the abolition of slavery and her work helped influence reform in child labour legislation. Her prolific output made her a rival to Tennyson as a candidate for poet laureate on the death of Wordsworth.
Browning's volume Poems (1844) brought her great success. During this time she met and corresponded with the writer Robert Browning, who admired her work. The courtship and marriage between the two were carried out in secret, for fear of her father's disapproval. Following the wedding she was disinherited by her father and rejected by her brothers. The couple moved to Italy in 1846, where she would live for the rest of her life. They had one son, Robert Barrett Browning, whom they called Pen. Towards the end of her life, her lung function worsened, and she died in Florence in 1861. A collection of her last poems was published by her husband shortly after her death.
Browning was brought up in a strongly religious household, and much of her work carries a Christian theme. Her work had a major influence on prominent writers of the day, including the American poets Edgar Allan Poe and Emily Dickinson. She is remembered for such poems as "How Do I Love Thee?" (Sonnet 43, 1845) and Aurora Leigh (1856).
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March 31, 2024
Sonnets from the Portuguese is a collection of forty-four love poems written to Robert Browning by Elizabeth Barrett Browning during their courtship. Apparently, they were not shown to him until three years after their marriage.
The poems are beautiful and lyrical verses that express love, fear, and doubts. Love came late into Miss Barrett's life, and at a time she wasn't expecting it.
She writes "Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind 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.".
She also writes "A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne
From year to year until I saw thy face,
And sorrow after sorrow took the place
Of all those natural joys as lightly worn
As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn
By a beating heart at dance-time."
According to her biography, Miss Barrett had been suffering from poor health from a very young age. So what was naturally expected was death but in its stead love gives her a new life.
She writes "The face of all the world is changed, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
Was caught up into love, and taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm."
The verses are full of love and happiness, but they also have a share of doubts and fears.
She writes "I hear thy voice and vow,
Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of sight,
As he, in his swooning ears, the choir's amen.
Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed,"
"If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
And be all to me? Shall I never miss
Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss
That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors, another home than this?"
The poems come from within a loving heart. They are genuine and very personal. They are also very expressive. This is why it is easy to connect with her beautiful lines. I really enjoyed this personal collection of love poems. The fact that these poems rose from real feelings was alluring. I can go on quoting many lines, but that would turn the review into an analysis. :) So I will stop here quoting only one of the most popular ones of the collection which shows how strong her love for Robert Browning was.
"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."
The poems are beautiful and lyrical verses that express love, fear, and doubts. Love came late into Miss Barrett's life, and at a time she wasn't expecting it.
She writes "Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind 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.".
She also writes "A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne
From year to year until I saw thy face,
And sorrow after sorrow took the place
Of all those natural joys as lightly worn
As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn
By a beating heart at dance-time."
According to her biography, Miss Barrett had been suffering from poor health from a very young age. So what was naturally expected was death but in its stead love gives her a new life.
She writes "The face of all the world is changed, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
Was caught up into love, and taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm."
The verses are full of love and happiness, but they also have a share of doubts and fears.
She writes "I hear thy voice and vow,
Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of sight,
As he, in his swooning ears, the choir's amen.
Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed,"
"If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
And be all to me? Shall I never miss
Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss
That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors, another home than this?"
The poems come from within a loving heart. They are genuine and very personal. They are also very expressive. This is why it is easy to connect with her beautiful lines. I really enjoyed this personal collection of love poems. The fact that these poems rose from real feelings was alluring. I can go on quoting many lines, but that would turn the review into an analysis. :) So I will stop here quoting only one of the most popular ones of the collection which shows how strong her love for Robert Browning was.
"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."
May 10, 2025
1.8 "indifferent at best" stars !!!
Gracious, I do not doubt Elizabeth's love for Robert but man oh man did this underwhelm me.
Out of 44 sonnets I liked 2 of them to a three-star degree and one of those was the famous ....how do i love thee...let me yada yada yada....
The other was Sonnet 22 and I will include here in italics so that I can have a somewhat positive memory of this collection:
When our two souls stand up erect and strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curvéd point, — what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here contented ? Think. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us, and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Belovèd, — where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.
The rest were more of 1.5 to 2 star variety...
Frankly I would have much rather heard these in Portuguese (a language I don't speak) sung fadista style ( I really love me some fado)
Take it away Maritza....
Gracious, I do not doubt Elizabeth's love for Robert but man oh man did this underwhelm me.
Out of 44 sonnets I liked 2 of them to a three-star degree and one of those was the famous ....how do i love thee...let me yada yada yada....
The other was Sonnet 22 and I will include here in italics so that I can have a somewhat positive memory of this collection:
When our two souls stand up erect and strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curvéd point, — what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here contented ? Think. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us, and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Belovèd, — where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.
The rest were more of 1.5 to 2 star variety...
Frankly I would have much rather heard these in Portuguese (a language I don't speak) sung fadista style ( I really love me some fado)
Take it away Maritza....
December 11, 2016
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 quivering
Against my tremulous hands which lose the string
And let them drop down on my knee tonight.
This said--He wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: This fixed a day in spring
To 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 quailed
As if God's future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine--and so it's ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this...O Love, thy words have I'll availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last.
This is sonnet XXVIII, one of my favorites:
My letters! All dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which lose the string
And let them drop down on my knee tonight.
This said--He wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: This fixed a day in spring
To 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 quailed
As if God's future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine--and so it's ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this...O Love, thy words have I'll availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last.
August 16, 2023
"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."
The above verses are from sonnet 43, one of the most famous sonnets from the collection and also my personal favorite. Which emphasizes that the authors' love for her husband is so profound that it cannot be easily quantified or explained. The phrase "feeling out of sight" may refers to the idea that her emotions and love transcend the visible and known, reaching into the realm of the unseen and unfathomable. The metaphors she employs throughout the verses illustrate the limitless nature of her emotions and her belief that her love transcends the boundaries of the material world.
This book is a collection of 44 sonnets written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning during the 19th Century. Well from the Title, you may think that these are translations of Portuguese poems, well no, but they are actually a sequence of deeply personal and intimate love poems that Browning wrote to her husband, Robert Browning. The title comes from a term of endearment Robert used for Elizabeth, referring to her as "my little Portuguese."
In this sonnet, Browning explores the depth and intensity of her love, using vivid imagery to convey the extent of her feelings. The poem expresses the idea that love transcends physical boundaries and reaches into the realm of the spiritual and ideal. In love with the lyrical beauty of this collection.
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."
The above verses are from sonnet 43, one of the most famous sonnets from the collection and also my personal favorite. Which emphasizes that the authors' love for her husband is so profound that it cannot be easily quantified or explained. The phrase "feeling out of sight" may refers to the idea that her emotions and love transcend the visible and known, reaching into the realm of the unseen and unfathomable. The metaphors she employs throughout the verses illustrate the limitless nature of her emotions and her belief that her love transcends the boundaries of the material world.
This book is a collection of 44 sonnets written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning during the 19th Century. Well from the Title, you may think that these are translations of Portuguese poems, well no, but they are actually a sequence of deeply personal and intimate love poems that Browning wrote to her husband, Robert Browning. The title comes from a term of endearment Robert used for Elizabeth, referring to her as "my little Portuguese."
In this sonnet, Browning explores the depth and intensity of her love, using vivid imagery to convey the extent of her feelings. The poem expresses the idea that love transcends physical boundaries and reaches into the realm of the spiritual and ideal. In love with the lyrical beauty of this collection.
January 10, 2023
Some great love affairs of the past produced great works of art, Keat’s letters to Fanny Brawne, the Taj Mahal, Kahlo’s The Embrace of the Love of the Universe and these sonnets written from Elizabeth Barrett Browning to her beloved Robert.
”If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love’s sake only…
But love me for love’s sake, that evermore
Thou may’st love on, through love’s eternity.”
Beautiful I’m sure we’d all agree.
Then there are today’s love affairs that gift the world an autobiography of gripes and petty grievances and recounts of frostbitten penises.
What a time to be alive.
”If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love’s sake only…
But love me for love’s sake, that evermore
Thou may’st love on, through love’s eternity.”
Beautiful I’m sure we’d all agree.
Then there are today’s love affairs that gift the world an autobiography of gripes and petty grievances and recounts of frostbitten penises.
What a time to be alive.
February 3, 2025
"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways." - Sonnet #43 - read this with your lover...have a 'How do I love thee?' poetry night...instead of the same old "movie night...this would be a great Valentines Day gift to give to your significant other - because it is the best poetic example I have ever read of dissolving the 'otherness' between lovers.
January 22, 2022
The face of all the world is changed, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
when is it my turn to be happy ? 😭
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
when is it my turn to be happy ? 😭
October 4, 2009
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.
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.
May 29, 2026
"Sonnets from the Portuguese" is a collection of 44 love sonnets written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning between 1845 and 1846 as she was being courted by her future husband, Robert Browning. The sonnets follow the progression of their relationship, including her initial doubts because she had been suffering from a chronic illness and was also dealing with sorrow from the deaths of her mother and brother. The poems at the end of the sequence are about romantic love, including her famous Sonnet 43 which begins with "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways." The sonnets were published in 1850 due to the encouragement by Robert Browning.
I enjoyed a close reading of these sonnets with some other members of the "Catching Up On Classics" group on Goodreads.
I enjoyed a close reading of these sonnets with some other members of the "Catching Up On Classics" group on Goodreads.
May 2, 2023
2023 Review
Having read just a little bit more about Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I returned to this one again.
It’s interesting how this poem works as one unit but is made up of 44 love sonnets. I imagine writing one is difficult but 44, and they’re a sequence.
The last time I read this was five years ago, so it was good to read this again.
Written in 1846, it’s still easy to empathise with the speaker’s doubt and hesitation that they deserve love. In the final steps (the last few sonnets), where the speaker is ready to accept that they can be loved, it’s hard not to cheer.
And just reading sonnet 43 again, absolutely beautiful and takes my breath away.
2019 Review
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:
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:
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.
Having read just a little bit more about Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I returned to this one again.
It’s interesting how this poem works as one unit but is made up of 44 love sonnets. I imagine writing one is difficult but 44, and they’re a sequence.
The last time I read this was five years ago, so it was good to read this again.
Written in 1846, it’s still easy to empathise with the speaker’s doubt and hesitation that they deserve love. In the final steps (the last few sonnets), where the speaker is ready to accept that they can be loved, it’s hard not to cheer.
And just reading sonnet 43 again, absolutely beautiful and takes my breath away.
2019 Review
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 flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was ’ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind 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.
July 17, 2023
"Yo que buscaba a Dios te encontré a ti"
Realmente me encantó y sorprendió este poemario. No por nada para muchos la autora es considerada la mejor poetisa de Inglaterra. El título de la obra obedece probablemente a la influencia de Camoens o a la famosa obra francesa "Cartas de una religiosa portuguesa" que la autora conocía muy bien. de hecho, comparte con esta última mucho de su estilo.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning realmente fue una dotada de su tiempo. Desde muy niña empezó a leer clásicos e incluso a escribir poemas. Era una fanática de Homero y de muchísimos autores clásicos. Tiene una ingente cantidad de producción literaria pero aún así creo que este poemario está entre sus mejores.
La autora, lamentablemente, sufrió de una condición que la tuvo muy enferma y postrada gran parte de su vida por lo que ello y además algunas muertes de seres muy queridos la llevó a verter sus experiencias en su poesía. Creo que también eso le da la permanente posición de inferioridad frente al ser amado que se lee en los poemas. Su esposo, también autor conocido antes que ella, es fuente probablemente de estos poemas que luego ella perfeccionó para poder publicarlos.
"No me quieras tampoco por las lágrimas
que compasivo enjugas en mi rostro...
¡Porque puedo olvidarme de llorar
gracias a ti, y así perder tu amor!"
Prácticamente todos estos "Sonetos del portugués" (quizás debería traducirse mejor como en otras ediciones como "Sonetos de la portuguesa") son de amor. Las comparaciones son muy buenas, frecuentemente se habla de la muerte pero más como castigo como posibilidad pronta ante una separación. En realidad, cualquier situación u objeto sirven para hacerle recordar al bien amado que todo lo relacionado a él es trascedente. Cartas, sortijas, besos y un largo etcétera.
"Deja así que un silencio de mujer
este amor de mujer te comunique...
Aunque parezca invicta, enamorada,
con intrépida y muda fortaleza,
dejando que mi vida se desgarre
y el corazón no diga su dolor."
Realmente me encantó y sorprendió este poemario. No por nada para muchos la autora es considerada la mejor poetisa de Inglaterra. El título de la obra obedece probablemente a la influencia de Camoens o a la famosa obra francesa "Cartas de una religiosa portuguesa" que la autora conocía muy bien. de hecho, comparte con esta última mucho de su estilo.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning realmente fue una dotada de su tiempo. Desde muy niña empezó a leer clásicos e incluso a escribir poemas. Era una fanática de Homero y de muchísimos autores clásicos. Tiene una ingente cantidad de producción literaria pero aún así creo que este poemario está entre sus mejores.
La autora, lamentablemente, sufrió de una condición que la tuvo muy enferma y postrada gran parte de su vida por lo que ello y además algunas muertes de seres muy queridos la llevó a verter sus experiencias en su poesía. Creo que también eso le da la permanente posición de inferioridad frente al ser amado que se lee en los poemas. Su esposo, también autor conocido antes que ella, es fuente probablemente de estos poemas que luego ella perfeccionó para poder publicarlos.
"No me quieras tampoco por las lágrimas
que compasivo enjugas en mi rostro...
¡Porque puedo olvidarme de llorar
gracias a ti, y así perder tu amor!"
Prácticamente todos estos "Sonetos del portugués" (quizás debería traducirse mejor como en otras ediciones como "Sonetos de la portuguesa") son de amor. Las comparaciones son muy buenas, frecuentemente se habla de la muerte pero más como castigo como posibilidad pronta ante una separación. En realidad, cualquier situación u objeto sirven para hacerle recordar al bien amado que todo lo relacionado a él es trascedente. Cartas, sortijas, besos y un largo etcétera.
"Deja así que un silencio de mujer
este amor de mujer te comunique...
Aunque parezca invicta, enamorada,
con intrépida y muda fortaleza,
dejando que mi vida se desgarre
y el corazón no diga su dolor."
May 24, 2015
Elizabeth Barrett Browning escreveu estes 44 sonetos durante o namoro com o poeta Robert Browning. Neles expressa os seus sentimentos; sempre acompanhados pelos lamentos de não ser merecedora do seu amor, e pelos receios do futuro.
Para não expor publicamente a sua intimidade - e como tinham alguma semelhança com os sonetos de Luis de Camões (não sei onde mas enfim) - decidiu publicá-los com o título de Sonetos Portugueses (também ficava bem "O Fado da Desgraçadinha") para sugerir a ideia de se tratarem de traduções.
"XXI
Diz outra vez, e outra vez ainda,
Que de mim gostas. Seja, muito embora,
Como o cantar do cuco - ainda agora
O disseste -, repete; a frase é linda.
Cantando, o cuco apregoa a vinda
Da Primavera. Eu ouço, sedutora,
A sua voz. Que seja enganadora
Receio. Repetida, é-me bem-vinda.
Quem pode achar que, no céu cristalino,
São demais as estrelas? Que num prado
Fresco e viçoso, as flores muitas são?
Diz: amo, amo, amo - como o sino
Repete o mesmo som -. Mas, tem cuidado
De amar-me sempre, Amor, co'o coração."
Para não expor publicamente a sua intimidade - e como tinham alguma semelhança com os sonetos de Luis de Camões (não sei onde mas enfim) - decidiu publicá-los com o título de Sonetos Portugueses (também ficava bem "O Fado da Desgraçadinha") para sugerir a ideia de se tratarem de traduções.
"XXI
Diz outra vez, e outra vez ainda,
Que de mim gostas. Seja, muito embora,
Como o cantar do cuco - ainda agora
O disseste -, repete; a frase é linda.
Cantando, o cuco apregoa a vinda
Da Primavera. Eu ouço, sedutora,
A sua voz. Que seja enganadora
Receio. Repetida, é-me bem-vinda.
Quem pode achar que, no céu cristalino,
São demais as estrelas? Que num prado
Fresco e viçoso, as flores muitas são?
Diz: amo, amo, amo - como o sino
Repete o mesmo som -. Mas, tem cuidado
De amar-me sempre, Amor, co'o coração."
May 19, 2026
I do not in the least degree possess the heart or soul of a poet. It is like an unknown language in which by luck and some slight understanding, I seem to grasp the tiniest bit of the meaning. Even then I can’t be sure it is a true understanding of the poets meaning or a bad interpretation by me.
I read this through and then like I do with plays, I found a recording and listened to it again. Listening is better than reading, but I was still out of my element and I’m glad I’m done. I will confess, that on the rare occasion that a poem does grab me, it grabs me deeply, it just doesn’t happen very often.
I read this through and then like I do with plays, I found a recording and listened to it again. Listening is better than reading, but I was still out of my element and I’m glad I’m done. I will confess, that on the rare occasion that a poem does grab me, it grabs me deeply, it just doesn’t happen very often.
January 3, 2026
Beloved, my Beloved, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sat alone here in the snow,
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
No moment at thy voice, but, link by link,
Went counting all my chains as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand,—why, thus I drink
Of life's great cup of wonder! Wonderful,
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
With personal act or speech,—nor ever cull
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull,
Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight.
Sonnet XX
My fourth annual turning-of-the-year reread of these sonnets. I take notes in my copy, so I can see what I was thinking a year ago, which is always a good exercise in self-knowledge. In January 2025, I was bitter toward love and found Browning's poetry rather saccharine and self-debasing, although I enjoyed some of the sonnets. In January 2026, I sincerely believe in the strength and beauty of love, and though I have not experienced it to such a degree as she did, I am moved by her words and desire such a love myself. I don't believe life isn't worthwhile without romance (and I suspect Browning doesn't either, even though she seems to sometimes, because I know what it's like to be lonely)—and I also think romance is worthwhile.
I see Platonic resonances all over the place (how did I ever get by without an intimate knowledge of the Symposium and Phaedrus??) and I sense Browning is a kindred spirit as regards my idea of the incommunicability of the most fundamental truths. God and Love transcend Language.
These poems are deceptively simple in language and deep in meaning, and great fun to read. I recommend them if you have a free afternoon.
I lived with visions for my company
Instead of men and women, years ago,
And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know
A sweeter music than they played to me.
But soon their trailing purple was not free
Of this world's dust, their lutes did silent grow,
And I myself grew faint and blind below
Their vanishing eyes. Then thou didst come—to be,
Beloved, 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 thee overcame
My soul with satisfaction of all wants:
Because God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame.
Sonnet XVI
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sat alone here in the snow,
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
No moment at thy voice, but, link by link,
Went counting all my chains as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand,—why, thus I drink
Of life's great cup of wonder! Wonderful,
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
With personal act or speech,—nor ever cull
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull,
Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight.
Sonnet XX
My fourth annual turning-of-the-year reread of these sonnets. I take notes in my copy, so I can see what I was thinking a year ago, which is always a good exercise in self-knowledge. In January 2025, I was bitter toward love and found Browning's poetry rather saccharine and self-debasing, although I enjoyed some of the sonnets. In January 2026, I sincerely believe in the strength and beauty of love, and though I have not experienced it to such a degree as she did, I am moved by her words and desire such a love myself. I don't believe life isn't worthwhile without romance (and I suspect Browning doesn't either, even though she seems to sometimes, because I know what it's like to be lonely)—and I also think romance is worthwhile.
I see Platonic resonances all over the place (how did I ever get by without an intimate knowledge of the Symposium and Phaedrus??) and I sense Browning is a kindred spirit as regards my idea of the incommunicability of the most fundamental truths. God and Love transcend Language.
These poems are deceptively simple in language and deep in meaning, and great fun to read. I recommend them if you have a free afternoon.
I lived with visions for my company
Instead of men and women, years ago,
And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know
A sweeter music than they played to me.
But soon their trailing purple was not free
Of this world's dust, their lutes did silent grow,
And I myself grew faint and blind below
Their vanishing eyes. Then thou didst come—to be,
Beloved, 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 thee overcame
My soul with satisfaction of all wants:
Because God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame.
Sonnet XVI
Read
June 6, 2025Thanks to the fella who put a copy of this book in a free library for me to find on my walk today!! :) Here are my favorite lines:
- "But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou may'st love on through love's eternity" (XIV, pg 13).
- "God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame" (XXVI, pg 22).
- "If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
And BE all to me? ...
For grief indeed is love and grief beside.
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love--
Yet love me--wilt thou?" (XXXV, pg 29).
- "But when a soul, by choice and conscience, doth
Throw out her full force on another soul, The conscience and the concentration both
Make mere life, Love" (LOVE, pg 40).
- "Maker and High Priest,
I ask thee not my joys to multiply, --
Only to make me worthier of the least" (ADEQUACY, pg 48).
- "...the wisest word Man reaches
Is the humbles he can speak..." (LESSONS FROM THE GORSE, pg 51).
- "But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou may'st love on through love's eternity" (XIV, pg 13).
- "God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame" (XXVI, pg 22).
- "If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
And BE all to me? ...
For grief indeed is love and grief beside.
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love--
Yet love me--wilt thou?" (XXXV, pg 29).
- "But when a soul, by choice and conscience, doth
Throw out her full force on another soul, The conscience and the concentration both
Make mere life, Love" (LOVE, pg 40).
- "Maker and High Priest,
I ask thee not my joys to multiply, --
Only to make me worthier of the least" (ADEQUACY, pg 48).
- "...the wisest word Man reaches
Is the humbles he can speak..." (LESSONS FROM THE GORSE, pg 51).
May 15, 2007
XXIII
Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
Because of grave-dumps falling round my head?
I marveled, my Belovèd, when I read
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine--
But...so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead
Of 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 exchange
My near sweet view of heaven, for earth with thee!
Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
Because of grave-dumps falling round my head?
I marveled, my Belovèd, when I read
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine--
But...so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead
Of 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 exchange
My near sweet view of heaven, for earth with thee!
December 6, 2018
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 more. All love sonnets and the natural inability to connect with them. Too much sugar for me.
Dec 5, 18
December 9, 2009
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)
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)
May 29, 2020
Não sei vocês, amo esse poetas de lingua inglesa do século XIX que usam e abusam de Thy e Thee, plus a Browning é sempre ótima de maneira geral.
March 24, 2008
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.
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.
Want to Read
November 28, 2019Free download available at Project Gutenberg
January 16, 2021
As beautiful as one would expect classic poetry on love to be.
May 26, 2026
It's been decades since I read these poems. I had a wonderful time revisiting them and watching Elizabeth's feelings changing as she wrote them.
December 16, 2014
Sonnets from the Portuguese first of all, não é útil se você quer praticar o português. This book will in no way prepare you for the ordering of a galão in some Lisbon café.
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 Luís de Camões; 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, Belovèd, 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 evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.
The collection also features the famous 'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...'.
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 Luís de Camões; 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, Belovèd, 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 evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.
The collection also features the famous 'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...'.
Read
April 21, 2015Some of my English-major friends would probably dare to call me “lapsed.” I don’t read poetry as much as I used to, nor am I particularly drawn to the classics now that I don’t have to be. It’s even a little sad that I needed the excuse of National Poetry Month to pick up EBB again as she’s always been one of my favorites. I love the concept of this collection: sonnets she wrote, but purported to have translated from—you guessed it—the Portuguese. Just some of the loveliest love poetry you’ll ever read.
Verdict: Buy
from Buy, Borrow, Bypass: http://bookriot.com/2015/04/20/buy-bo...
Verdict: Buy
from Buy, Borrow, Bypass: http://bookriot.com/2015/04/20/buy-bo...
May 7, 2014
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 poetic
poems 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?
Next to Shakespeare, this is the most bittersweet and poetic
poems 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?
April 29, 2015
44 sonnets by the famous poet, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, chronicling her love for her husband, Robert Browning, from the time they met to their marriage. Of course, the most famous one is #43: “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Etc.” But there is much more than this often quoted sonnet here. A great collection to read and re-read.
August 29, 2025
"Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed: And love is fire"
i gasped when i read this. Elizabeth Browning's evident love and devotion is beautiful (3.5 because i didn't connect with the latter half as much)
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed: And love is fire"
i gasped when i read this. Elizabeth Browning's evident love and devotion is beautiful (3.5 because i didn't connect with the latter half as much)
March 9, 2024
06/03/2024: Hoy tengo una alergia que me hace parecer descomunalmente sufrido, nivel los que reparten estampitas en el subte me miran y siguen de largo; parece que no paro de llorar; un fantasma anochecido de las hermanas Brontë.
Revisando cajas de DVDs donde siempre a la lejanía vi un libro de Haroldo Conti, desconozco cuál, no me quise acercar.
Me senté donde me siento siempre en el café y esta vez no estaba Lilia Lemoine pero estaba un varón al que le cancelé el match hace dos años.
Qué gracioso, le rompí toda la sobrecubierta sin querer y después dije "Ay qué suave lo subrayé! *apretar el trazo*" y me acordé de que no lo había comprado para mí. Qué va a ser. Ahora estás condenado a ser mío por siempre.
Qué intensidad esta muchachita. Es tan adolescente, wild and fluorescent. Parece estar constantemente al borde de la muerte. Creo que es un libro que solo se debería leer estando enamorado (no necesariamente de alguien), pero sí en un momento de alta altitud. Beloved, I only love thee! —let it pass.
And love is fire! - And when I say at need
I love thee.. mark!.. I love thee!.. in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright
with conscience of the new rays that proceed
out of my face to thine.
Me parece increíble que los seres humanos tengamos emociones. Esto tiene casi 200 años y la gente se sigue sintiendo así.
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.
Y lo cerca que de empezar o de terminarse que parecen estos amores tan intensos. Yo podría haber salido con el muchachoide que tengo al lado, but in a moment of joy and fury I threw myself off the balcony.
Tal vez Buenos Aires esté descuidada y llena de mosquitos y perros y gatos y ratas sueltas; pero también está invadida por pelusas que podrían llegar a parecer dientes de leones que no se desarman, y mariposas, muchas mariposas anaranjadas.
Y tal vez el país esté en crisis pero mis problemas actuales son: quiero leer la biografía de Kurt, pero es muy simple para aprovechar el impulso del té, pero soy muy vago para agarrar La hora de la estrella; el té se pasó y tiene sabor horrible y la moza de hoy no me va a querer dar más agua. Qué batallas. En fin.
My love, my own.
04/10/2023: Qué belleza. Algo fuertísimo de estos poemas es el momento en el que fueron escritos. Pero no como curiosidad biográfica, sino estética. Elizabeth escribió mientras se enamoraba de Robert Browning; fluye, se precipita, pero después baja, no es estrictamente romántica, deja una sensación de armonía emocional al terminar cada uno; sentir el amor tan fuerte pareciera ser sentirse tan cerca de la muerte, la muchacha Barrett Browning es muy lúcida y usa ese impulso inquieto para aquietarse. Se pregunta, se interroga, crece mientras escribe. Se pregunta cómo la va a querer si no tiene nada que ofrecerle a él, se responde que tal vez simplemente la quiere y ya. Nada de nadar en miseria.
"And what I feel, across the inferior features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
How that great work of Love enhances nature's"
Casi como Emily Dickinson, observadoras silenciosas del mundo y del individuo, e igual de difícil de traducir que ella. Muy prudente su juicio, la felicito —aunque lleva muerta doscientos años y ya está consagrada. Ah, me contagió un impulso de mediana libre juiciosa asociación: basta de decir que Plath y Pizarnik eran brujas o íconos depresivos. Todo ese mambo es un invento editorial y cultural, es muy fácil vender a un freak, sobre todo si es una mujer. Está en sus poemas, sintieron más felicidad que yo y cualquiera que lea esto, y así sintieron tristeza, como cualquier ser humano. Qué estabilidad, y qué extraño, yo no elegí leerla, solo tuve la oportunidad de comprar una edición regaladísima con el facsímil del manuscrito, as some calming ghoul out of thin asphyxiation she simply fled to my now-in order-desk; tengo que parar de quedarme leyendo hasta las 2AM en la cocina con los programas de los pastores evangélicos de fondo, uno —el de "El templo de los milagros"— pone tantas imágenes de oro que realmente parece un show de tasación de joyas, el otro es brasilero, no me quejo, creo que estoy empezando a entender portugués, watch out Clarice.
Revisando cajas de DVDs donde siempre a la lejanía vi un libro de Haroldo Conti, desconozco cuál, no me quise acercar.
Me senté donde me siento siempre en el café y esta vez no estaba Lilia Lemoine pero estaba un varón al que le cancelé el match hace dos años.
Qué gracioso, le rompí toda la sobrecubierta sin querer y después dije "Ay qué suave lo subrayé! *apretar el trazo*" y me acordé de que no lo había comprado para mí. Qué va a ser. Ahora estás condenado a ser mío por siempre.
Qué intensidad esta muchachita. Es tan adolescente, wild and fluorescent. Parece estar constantemente al borde de la muerte. Creo que es un libro que solo se debería leer estando enamorado (no necesariamente de alguien), pero sí en un momento de alta altitud. Beloved, I only love thee! —let it pass.
And love is fire! - And when I say at need
I love thee.. mark!.. I love thee!.. in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright
with conscience of the new rays that proceed
out of my face to thine.
Me parece increíble que los seres humanos tengamos emociones. Esto tiene casi 200 años y la gente se sigue sintiendo así.
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.
Y lo cerca que de empezar o de terminarse que parecen estos amores tan intensos. Yo podría haber salido con el muchachoide que tengo al lado, but in a moment of joy and fury I threw myself off the balcony.
Tal vez Buenos Aires esté descuidada y llena de mosquitos y perros y gatos y ratas sueltas; pero también está invadida por pelusas que podrían llegar a parecer dientes de leones que no se desarman, y mariposas, muchas mariposas anaranjadas.
Y tal vez el país esté en crisis pero mis problemas actuales son: quiero leer la biografía de Kurt, pero es muy simple para aprovechar el impulso del té, pero soy muy vago para agarrar La hora de la estrella; el té se pasó y tiene sabor horrible y la moza de hoy no me va a querer dar más agua. Qué batallas. En fin.
My love, my own.
04/10/2023: Qué belleza. Algo fuertísimo de estos poemas es el momento en el que fueron escritos. Pero no como curiosidad biográfica, sino estética. Elizabeth escribió mientras se enamoraba de Robert Browning; fluye, se precipita, pero después baja, no es estrictamente romántica, deja una sensación de armonía emocional al terminar cada uno; sentir el amor tan fuerte pareciera ser sentirse tan cerca de la muerte, la muchacha Barrett Browning es muy lúcida y usa ese impulso inquieto para aquietarse. Se pregunta, se interroga, crece mientras escribe. Se pregunta cómo la va a querer si no tiene nada que ofrecerle a él, se responde que tal vez simplemente la quiere y ya. Nada de nadar en miseria.
"And what I feel, across the inferior features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
How that great work of Love enhances nature's"
Casi como Emily Dickinson, observadoras silenciosas del mundo y del individuo, e igual de difícil de traducir que ella. Muy prudente su juicio, la felicito —aunque lleva muerta doscientos años y ya está consagrada. Ah, me contagió un impulso de mediana libre juiciosa asociación: basta de decir que Plath y Pizarnik eran brujas o íconos depresivos. Todo ese mambo es un invento editorial y cultural, es muy fácil vender a un freak, sobre todo si es una mujer. Está en sus poemas, sintieron más felicidad que yo y cualquiera que lea esto, y así sintieron tristeza, como cualquier ser humano. Qué estabilidad, y qué extraño, yo no elegí leerla, solo tuve la oportunidad de comprar una edición regaladísima con el facsímil del manuscrito, as some calming ghoul out of thin asphyxiation she simply fled to my now-in order-desk; tengo que parar de quedarme leyendo hasta las 2AM en la cocina con los programas de los pastores evangélicos de fondo, uno —el de "El templo de los milagros"— pone tantas imágenes de oro que realmente parece un show de tasación de joyas, el otro es brasilero, no me quejo, creo que estoy empezando a entender portugués, watch out Clarice.
June 27, 2014
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore, ..
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes, the tears of two.
I read this amazing one
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore, ..
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes, the tears of two.
I read this amazing one
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