V
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The gray dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,
And, looking
九-九-藏-書 in thine eyes, I overturnAnd how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
Thou wait beside me for the 九*九*藏*書wind to blow
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
V
O my Beloved, will not shi九-九-藏-書eld thee so,
It might be well perhaps. But if instead
The hair beneath. Stand farther off then ! go.
That none https://read.99csw.comof all the fires shall scorch and shred
I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
As once Electra her sepulchral urn,
Co
https://read.99csw•comuld tread them out to darkness utterly,
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see
Through the ashen grayness. If thy foot in scorn