Thou comest ! all is said without a word. <br />I sit beneath thy looks, as children do <br />In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through <br />Their happy eyelids from an unaverred <br />Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred <br />In that last doubt ! and yet I cannot rue <br />The sin most, but the occasion--that we two <br />Should for a moment stand unministered <br />By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close, <br />Thou dovelike help ! and, when my fears would rise, <br />With thy broad heart serenely interpose: <br />Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies <br />These thoughts which tremble when bereft of those, <br />Like callow birds left desert to the skies.<br /><br />Elizabeth Barrett Browning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/xxxi/
