Poem by Elizabeth Barrett-Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese. 23. Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead

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

1. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 30. I see thine image through my tears to-night
2. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 20. Belovëd, my Belovëd, when I think
3. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 12. Indeed this very love which is my boast
4. To Flush, My Dog
5. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 11. And therefore if to love can be desert

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