4023. EBB to Marguerite A. Power
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 24, 109–110.
La Villa. Bagni di Lucca. Toscana.
Saturday– [1 August 1857] [1]
My dear Miss Power can you forgive me for this pause & delay? I was very unhappy when I received your letter & incapable of attending to anything,—&, since then, we have fallen into indolence, oppressed by the intense heat of Florence & putting off all pieces of business till we could get into this shadow of the mountains– A week longer than was intended, too, we remained in the cauldron, on account of Mr Lytton’s sudden arrival. We had to look him in the face & talk a little. Then we came off here, hoping that he would follow us presently.
And now, at last, here are these poems [2] .. (one from me, & one from my husband) which you asked for,—& some other verses from a friend of mine [3] who desires me to offer them to your acceptance for the uses of your book if you should consider them suitable. Are we too late? or in time? And if in time, will you have the goodness to send us proofs?—would you? Could you? We shall be found at these Baths two months from this time– Our mountains are very beautiful, but I wont set my Italy against your England, which is beautiful too in its rural parts, as none knows better than I– May it remain good & green to you, dear Miss Power, and full of tender friends! So glad I shall be always to hear of your happiness—so glad!
But I wont miss this post, to say this more largely– I have mislaid your letter, & must trust to Mr Procter the care of finding you. May God bless you–
In the greatest haste, let me leave my name here as
faithfully & affectionately yours
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library.
Enclosures:
Study of a Hand, by Lionardo.
“As like as a hand is to a hand!”
Whoever says that foolish thing,
Cannot have studied to understand
The counsels of God in fashioning
Out of the infinite love of his heart
This Hand, whose Beauty I praise apart
From a world of wonder left to praise
Should one try and learn the other ways
Of that love in the Skill, that love in the Power.
Oh, never he followed, a single hour,
The Beauty alone, so free, so fine
To fear almost, of the limit-line!
As I looked at it, and learned, and drew,
And drew, and learned, and looked again,
While fast the happy moments flew,
The beauty mounted into my brain
And a fancy seized me; I was fain
To efface my work and begin anew,
Kiss what, before, I simply drew—
Ay, laying the red chalk ’twixt my lips,
With my soul close by, if the weak lips ailed,
I would kiss all safe where the drawing failed
—Kiss down the grace that somehow slips
Still from one’s soulless finger-tips.
Robert Browning.
My heart and I.
1
Enough, we’re tired, my heart and I.
We sit beside the headstone thus
And wish that name were writ for us–
The moss reprints more tenderly
The hard types of the mason’s knife,
As heaven’s sweet life renews earth’s life;
And now we’re tired, my heart & I–
2
You see we’re tired, my heart & I.
We dealt with books, we trusted men,
And in our own blood drenched the pen
As if such colours could not fly:
We walked too straight for fortune’s end,
We loved too true to keep a friend,
And now we’re tired, my heart & I.
3
How tired we are, my heart & I!
We seem of no use in the world.
Our fancies hang grey and uncurled
About men’s eyes indifferently;
Our voice which shook you so, you get
Asleep by,—our tears are but wet.
What do we here, my heart and I?
4
So tired, so tired, my heart & I!
It was not thus in that old time
When Ralph sate with me ’neath the lime
To watch the sunset from the sky:
“Dear love, you’re looking tired,” he said;
I, smiling at him, shook my head.
’Tis now I’m tired, my heart & I.
5
Now very tired, my heart & I;
Though now none takes me on his arm
To fold me close and kiss me warm,
Till each quick breath end in a sigh
Of happy languor. Now, alone.
I lean upon this grave-yard stone,
So tired, so tired, my heart & I.
6
Tired out we are, my heart and I.
Suppose the world brought diadems
To tempt us, crusted with loose gems
Of powers & pleasures! .. let it try.
We scarcely care to look at even
A pretty child or God’s blue heaven,
We feel so tired, my heart & I.
7
Yet who complains? my heart and I?
In this abundant earth no doubt
There’s little room for things worn out:
’Tis right to scorn and throw them by.
And if before the days grew rough
We once were loved .. used,—well enough
I think we’ve fared, my heart and I.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
1. Dated by references to this letter and its enclosures in letter 4024.
2. See enclosures.
3. Probably Isa Blagden.
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