Friday, February 02, 2007

For My Valentine

Now that we are nearing the dreaded 14th, it's worth the time to go back to EBB and her beloved Robert. Their story is quite a miracle and their romance was true, unique and glistening. A model of endurance, gentleness and kind, passionate, true love.
They had a happy marriage if not cut all too short by Ms. Barrett's ill health. Here we have Robert Browning's initial letter to her, and one of many inspirations from their growing relationship, a poem from Sonnets from the Portuguese. There are too many beautiful ones to choose from; all express the pattern of their relationship, her disdain of homelife and deep dissappointments, the transience and uncertainty of love, her frail health and Robert's consistent compassion and growing love for his darling 'Ba', a pet name she had obtained from close sibling that drowned, one of many tragedies she shouldered with grace.
Enjoy!

New Cross, Hatcham, Surrey.[January 10, 1845]
I love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett,---and this is no off-hand complimentary letter that I shall write,---whatever else, no prompt matter-of-course recognition of your genius, and there a graceful and natural end of the thing.
Since the day last week when I first read your poems, I quite laugh to remember how I have been turning and turning again in my mind what I should be able to tell you of their effect upon me, for in the first flush of delight I thought I would this once get out of my habit of purely passive enjoyment, when I do really enjoy, and thoroughly justify my admiration---perhaps even, as a loyal fellow-craftsman should, try and find fault and do you some little good to be proud of hereafter!---but nothing comes of it all---so into me has it gone, and part of me has it become, this great living poetry of yours, not a flower of which but took root and grew---Oh, how different that is from lying to be dried and pressed flat, and prized highly, and put in a book with a proper account at top and bottom, and shut up and put away . . . and the book called a 'Flora,' besides!
After all, I need not give up the thought of doing that, too, in time; because even now, talking with whoever is worthy, I can give a reason for my faith in one and another excellence, the fresh strange music, the affluent language, the exquisite pathos and true new brave thought; but in this addressing myself to you---your own self, and for the first time, my feeling rises altogether.
I do, as I say, love these books with all my heart---and I love you too. Do you know I was once not very far from seeing---really seeing you? Mr. Kenyon said to me one morning 'Would you like to see Miss Barrett?' then he went to announce me,---then he returned . . you were too unwell, and now it is years ago, and I feel as at some untoward passage in my travels, as if I had been close, so close, to some world's-wonder in chapel or crypt, only a screen to push and I might have entered, but there was some slight, so it now seems, slight and just sufficient bar to admission, and the half-opened door shut, and I went home my thousands of miles, and the sight was never to be?
Well, these Poems were to be, and this true thankful joy and pride with which I feel myself,
Yours ever faithfully,
Robert Browning

"Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart..."by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!Unlike our uses and our destinies.Our ministering two angels look surpriseOn one another, as they strike athwartTheir wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, artA guest for queens to social pageantries,With gages from a hundred brighter eyesThan tears even can make mine, to play thy partOf chief musician. What hast thou to doWith looking from the lattice-lights at me,A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing throughThe dark, and leaning up a cypress tree?The chrism is on thine head,---on mine, the dew,---And Death must dig the level where these agree.

2 Comments:

Blogger holly said...

oh my this is one of mon favorites! i love that sonnet. unlike are we o princely heart. the chrism is on thy head...looking up to the palace floor. o it's all too beautiful.
what a lovely letter rb sends! i know i'd have swooned had it been sent to me.
thanks for posting this!

12:27 PM  
Blogger Napoleon said...

i don't think men understand the value of words and how it affects a woman's heart. His letters are sincere and exquisite as are hers rivalled only I think by Abigail and John Adams.

8:10 AM  

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