| Poems by Women |
INCLUSIONS
Oh, wilt thou have my hand, Dear, to lie along in thine?
As a little stone
in a running stream, it seems to lie and pine.
Now drop the poor pale hand,
Dear, unfit to plight with thine.
Oh, wilt thou have my cheek, Dear, drawn closer to thine own?
My cheek is
white, my check is worn, by many a tear run down.
Now leave a little space,
Dear, lest it should wet thine own.
Oh, must thou have my soul, Dear, commingled with thy soul? -
Red grows
the cheek, and warm the hand; the part is in the whole;
Nor hands nor cheeks
keep separate, when soul is joined to soul.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861]
From: Stevenson, Burton Egbert.
The Home Book of Verse.
This poet:
[Author index]
This collection assembled by Jone Johnson Lewis.
Collection © 1999-2002 Jone Johnson Lewis.
Citing poems from these pages:
| Author. "Poem Title." Women's History: Poems by Women. Jone Johnson Lewis, editor. URL: (date of logon) |
