TO ELIZABETH BARRET BROWNING.
I lose myself within thy mind—from room
To goodly room thou leadest me, and still
Dost show me of thy glory more, until
My soul like Sheba's Queen faints, overcome,
And all my spirit dies within me, numb,
Sucked in by thine, a larger star, at will;
And hasting like thy bee, my hive to fill,
I "swoon for very joy" amid thy bloom;
Till—not like that poor bird (as poets feign)
That tried against the Lutanist's her skill,
Crowding her thick precipitate notes, until
Her weak heart brake above the contest vain—
Did not thy strength a nobler thought instil,
I feel as if I ne'er could sing again!
To goodly room thou leadest me, and still
Dost show me of thy glory more, until
My soul like Sheba's Queen faints, overcome,
And all my spirit dies within me, numb,
Sucked in by thine, a larger star, at will;
And hasting like thy bee, my hive to fill,
I "swoon for very joy" amid thy bloom;
Till—not like that poor bird (as poets feign)
That tried against the Lutanist's her skill,
Crowding her thick precipitate notes, until
Her weak heart brake above the contest vain—
Did not thy strength a nobler thought instil,
I feel as if I ne'er could sing again!
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