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Elizabeth Barrett Browning - Sonnet XXVII: My Dear Belovèd
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My dear Belovèd, who hast lifted me 
From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown, 
And, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blown 
A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully 
Shines out again, as all the angels see, 
Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own, 
Who camest to me when the world was gone, 
And I who looked for only God, found thee!
I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad. 
As one who stands in dewless asphodel 
Looks backward on the tedious time he had 
In the upper life,—so I, with bosom-swell, 
Make witness, here, between the good and bad, 
That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well.
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