Sonnets From The Portuguese Iii

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.

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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