Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 19, by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING



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SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 19, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: The soul's rialto hath its merchandise
Last Line: No natural heat till mine grows cold in death.
Subject(s): Love; Hair; Gifts & Giving


THE soul's Rialto hath its merchandise;
I barter curl for curl upon that mart,
And from my poet's forehead to my heart
Receive this lock which outweighs argosies, --
As purply black, as erst to Pindar's eyes
The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart
The nine white Muse-brows. For this counterpart, ...
The bay-crown's shade, Beloved, I surmise
Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black!
Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath,
I tie the shadows safe from gliding back,
And lay the gift where nothing hindereth;
Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack
No natural heat till mine grows cold in death.





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