Sonnet 28 My letters all dead paper mute and white Poem
………………. by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee to-night.
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 its ink has paled
With Iying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this .
.
.
O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!
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