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Sonnet 28 - My letters! all dead paper mute and white!

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Written 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, .
.
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the paper's light .
.
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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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