The Poetry Corner

Sonnets From The Portuguese XVIII

By Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I never gave a lock of hair away To a man, Dearest, except this to thee, Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully I ring out to the full brown length and say Take it. My day of youth went yesterday; My hair no longer bounds to my foots glee, Nor plant I it from rose- or myrtle-tree, As girls do, any more: it only may Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears, Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside Through sorrows trick. I thought the funeral-shears Would take this first, but Love is justified, Take it thou, finding pure, from all those years, The kiss my mother left here when she died.