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Sonnets from the Portuguese

by Elizabeth Barrett BROWNING (1806 - 1861)

Thou hast thy calling to some palace floor

Sonnets from the Portuguese, written ca. 1845–1846 and first published in 1850, is a collection of forty-four love sonnets written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. The poems largely chronicle the period leading up to her 1846 marriage to Robert Browning. The collection was acclaimed and popular even in the poet's lifetime and it remains so today. Elizabeth was initially hesitant to publish the poems, feeling that they were too personal. However, Robert insisted that they were the best sequence of English-language sonnets since Shakespeare's time and urged her to publish them. To offer the couple some privacy, she decided that she might publish them under a title disguising the poems as translations of foreign sonnets. Therefore, the collection was first to be known as Sonnets from the Bosnian, until Robert suggested that she change their imaginary original language to Portuguese, probably after his nickname for her: "my little Portuguese." (Summary from Wikipedia)

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Listen next episodes of Sonnets from the Portuguese:
A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne , Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear , And therefore if to love can be desert , And wilt thou have me fashion into speech , And yet, because thou overcomest so , Because thou hast the power and own’st the grace , Beloved, my beloved, when I think , Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers , Can it be right to give what I can give? , First time he kissed me, he but only kissed , Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand , How do I love thee? Let me count the ways , I lift my heavy heart up solemnly , I lived with visions for my company , I never gave a lock of hair away , I see thine image through my tears tonight , I thank all who have loved me in their hearts , I think of thee!–my thoughts do twine and bud , If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange , If thou must love me, let it be for nought , Indeed this very love which is my boast , Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead , Let the world’s sharpness, like a clasping knife , My future will not copy fair my past , My letters! all dead paper, mute and white! , My own Beloved, who has lifted me , My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes , Oh yes! they love all through this world of ours! , Pardon, oh, pardon that my soul should make , Say over again, and yet once over again , The face of all the world is changed, I think , The first time that the sun rose on thine oath , The soul’s Rialto hath its merchandise , Thou comest! All is said without a word , What can I give thee back, O liberal , When our two souls stand up erect and strong , When we first met and loved, I did not build , With the same heart, I said, I’ll answer thee , Yes, call me by my pet-name! Let me hear , Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful enough