Tuesday, January 11, 2011
From Elizabeth Barrett to Robert Browning and from me to you, miamor
It seems to me, to myself, that no man was ever before to any woman what you are to me – the fulness must be in proportion, you know, to the vacancy… and only I know what was behind – the long wilderness without the blossoming rose… and the capacity for happiness, like a black gaping hole, before this silver flooding.
Is it wonderful that I should stand as in a dream, and disbelieve – not you – but my own fate? Was ever any one taken suddenly from a lampless dungeon and placed upon the pinnacle of a mountain, without the head turning round and the heart turning faint, as mine do?
January 10, 1846 & January 11, 2011