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Elizabeth Barrett Browning - To
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Mine is a wayward lay;
And, if its echoing rhymes I try to string,
     Proveth a truant thing,
Whenso some names I love, send it away!

     For then, eyes swimming o`er,
And clasped hands, and smiles in fondness meant,
     Are much more eloquent —
So it had fain begone, and speak no more!

     Yet shall it come again,
Ah, friend belov`d! if so thy wishes be,
     And, with wild melody,
I will, upon thine ear, cadence my strain —

     Cadence my simple line,
Unfashion`d by the cunning hand of Art,
     But coming from my heart,
To tell the message of its love to thine!

     As ocean shells, when taken
From Ocean`s bed, will faithfully repeat
     Her ancient music sweet —
Ev`n so these words, true to my heart, shall waken!

     Oh! while our bark is seen,
Our little bark of kindly, social love,
     Down life`s clear stream to move
Toward the summer shores, where all is green —

     So long thy name shall bring,
Echoes of joy unto the grateful gales,
     And thousand tender tales,
To freshen the fond hearts that round thee cling!

     Hast thou not look`d upon
The flowerets of the field in lowly dress?
     Blame not my simpleness —
Think only of my love! — my song is gone.
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