XIII <br /> <br />And wilt thou have me fashion into speech <br />The love I bear thee, finding words enough, <br />And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough, <br />Between our faces, to cast light on each?— <br />I drop it at thy feet. I cannot teach <br />My hand to hold my spirit so far off <br />From myself—me—that I should bring thee proof <br />In words, of love hid in me out of reach. <br />Nay, let the silence of my womanhood <br />Commend my woman-love to thy belief,— <br />Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed, <br />And rend the garment of my life, in brief, <br />By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude, <br />Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief<br /><br />Elizabeth Barrett Browning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-13-and-wilt-thou-have-me-fashion-into-spe/
