If I could write poetry and sonnets like her, I would forever be remembered. My favourite was ‘How Do I Love Thee’, but this one just made me cry, and yet, I have no idea why. It triggered some sort of emotion deep inside of me.
I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hadn’t appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was ‘ware,
So weeping, how a mystic shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove–
“Guess now who holds thee?”–”Death,” I said.
But, there, The silver answer rang,–”Not Death, but Love
-Elizabeth Barret Browning
Cleffairy: How long had it been since I last shed tears? Not long. How long had it been since I felt my heart had been shot by words? The very moment I read Elizabeth Barret Browning’s sonnet. When will I stop wasting my time, my life? I don’t know. I should start now, shouldn’t I? I ought to. Before I expired.