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Elizabeth Barrett Browning - Sonnet XIX: The Soul`s Rialto
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The soul`s Rialto hath its merchandise; 
I barter curl for curl upon that mart, 
And from my poet`s forehead to my heart 
Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,— 
As purply black, as erst to Pindar`s eyes 
The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart 
The nine white Muse-brows. For this counterpart,… 
The bay-crown`s shade, Belovèd, I surmise, 
Still lingers on thy curl, it so black! 
Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath, 
I tie the shadows safe from gliding back, 
And lay the gift where nothing hindereth; 
Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack 
No natural heat till mine grows cold in death.
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