The Grief of My Heart

British|Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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 on each? —

I drop it thy feet. I cannot teach

My hands 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

Command 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.