Reference Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXV)


What days are these that lo, we just avail
Us of a look or two, handshake, for sense
You kiss my hand, yet no more, like tis thence
Too rich to be...what, eh?  O! in betrayl
I'm sorely tempted to leave off this frail
Charade and kiss you too, in sheer defense,
To waltz off like it does not matter hence,
Yes, mebbe that will do.  Think you tis bail?
None, darling, now exists.  These games are poor.
I'm sick of playing around like that will do.
There is no upper hand to take.  You stir
Hot coals as if their whiteness meant Death knew
No fires could rouse a light.  No.  You as twere
Half tiptoe, daring me to be more too.

04Jul17a