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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=360752" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnets LVI:LVII: LVIII: True Woman</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I. HERSELF</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To be a sweetness more desired than Spring;<br>A bodily beauty more acceptable<br>Than the wild rose-tree's arch that crowns the fell;<br>To be an essence more environing<br>Than wine's drained juice; a music ravishing<br>More than the passionate pulse of Philomel;—<br>To be all this 'neath one soft bosom's swell<br>That is the flower of life:—how strange a thing!<br>How strange a thing to be what Man can know<br>But as a sacred secret! Heaven's own screen<br>Hides her soul's purest depth and loveliest glow;<br>Closely withheld, as all things most unseen,—<br>The wave-bowered pearl,—the heart-shaped seal of green<br>That flecks the snowdrop underneath the snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II. HER LOVE</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She loves him; for her infinite soul is Love,<br>And he her lodestar. Passion in her is<br>A glass facing his fire, where the bright bliss<br>Is mirrored, and the heat returned. Yet move<br>That glass, a stranger's amorous flame to prove,<br>And it shall turn, by instant contraries,<br>Ice to the moon; while her pure fire to his<br>For whom it burns, clings close i' the heart's alcove.<br>Lo! they are one. With wifely breast to breast<br>And circling arms, she welcomes all command<br>Of love,—her soul to answering ardours fann'd:<br>Yet as morn springs or twilight sinks to rest,<br>Ah! who shall say she deems not loveliest<br>The hour of sisterly sweet hand-in-hand?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III. HER HEAVEN</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If to grow old in Heaven is to grow young,<br>(As the Seer saw and said,) then blest were he<br>With youth for evermore, whose heaven should be<br>True Woman, she whom these weak notes have sung.<br>Here and hereafter,—choir-strains of her tongue,—<br>Sky-spaces of her eyes,—sweet signs that flee<br>About her soul's immediate sanctuary,—<br>Were Paradise all uttermost worlds among.<br>The sunrise blooms and withers on the hill<br>Like any hillflower; and the noblest troth<br>Dies here to dust. Yet shall Heaven's promise clothe<br>Even yet those lovers who have cherished still<br>This test for love:—in every kiss sealed fast<br>To feel the first kiss and forebode the last.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Dante+Gabriel+Rossetti">Dante Gabriel Rossetti</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=360752" data-title="Sonnets LVI:LVII: LVIII: True Woman de Dante Gabriel Rossetti" data-description="I. HERSELF

To be a sweetness more desired than Spring;
A bodily beauty more acceptable
Than the wild rose-tree's arch that crowns the fell;
To be an essence more environing
Than wine's drained juice; a music ravishing
More than the passionate pul..."></div>
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