XXIII <br /> <br />Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead, <br />Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine? <br />And would the sun for thee more coldly shine <br />Because of grave-damps falling round my head? <br />I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read <br />Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine— <br />But . . . so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine <br />While my hands tremble ? Then my soul, instead <br />Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range. <br />Then, love me, Love! look on me—breathe on me! <br />As brighter ladies do not count it strange, <br />For love, to give up acres and degree, <br />I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange <br />My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee!<br /><br />Elizabeth Barrett Browning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-23-is-it-indeed-so-if-i-lay-here-dead/
