I lift my heavy heart up solemnly, <br />As once Electra her sepulchral urn, <br />And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn <br />The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see <br />What a great heap of grief lay hid in me, <br />And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn <br />Through the ashen grayness. If thy foot in scorn <br />Could tread them out to darkness utterly, <br />It might be well perhaps. But if instead <br />Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow <br />The gray dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head, <br />O my Beloved, will not shield thee so, <br />That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred <br />The hair beneath. Stand farther off then ! go.<br /><br />Elizabeth Barrett Browning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-v-6/
