Victorian poetry

Yeah, I know, the advert said there would be only bits of Victorian poetry. And really that is my intent. But I found this volume of Elizabeth Barrett Browning in a thrift shop, and I've found the verses to be absolutely stunning. I've also found them to be much like very rich chocolate -- if you have too much at one sitting, you will end up with digestive problems. So I will present Sonnets From the Portuguese, one at a time.

I
I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, --
"Guess now who holds thee?" -- "Death," I said. But, there,
The silver answer rang, -- "Not Death, but Love."

Don't let the fame of XLIII get in the way of all the rest of them.