LOVE me, sweet, with all thou art, Feeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the lightest part, Love me in full being. Love me with thine open youth In its frank surrender; With the vowing of thy mouth, With its silence tender. Love me with thine azure eyes, Made for earnest granting; Taking colour from the skies— Can Heaven’s truth be wanting? Love me with their lids, that fall Snow-like at first meeting; Love me with thine heart, that all Neighbours then see beating. Love me with thine hand, stretched out Freely, open-minded: Love me with thy loitering foot— Hearing one behind it. Love me with thy voice, that turns Sudden faint above me; Love me with thy blush, that burns When I murmur, Love me! Love me with thy thinking soul, Break it to love-sighing; Love me with thy thoughts, that roll On through living, dying. Love me in thy gorgeous airs, When the world has crown’d thee; Love me, kneeling at thy prayers, With the angels round thee. Love me pure, as musers do, Up the woodlands shady; Love me gayly, fast and true, As a winsome lady. Though all hopes that keep us brave, Further off or nigher, Love me for the house and grave, And for something higher. Thus, if thou wilt prove me, dear, Woman’s love no fable, I will love thee—half a year, As a man is able. Elizabeth Barrett Browning. |