The one cause of her hesitation was her fear of wronging Robert by marrying him, and on this point she wrote to him, saying:

"If you give me your life, and I

put my whole heart into making it happy, what shall I win for it but pain and misery? However lavish I may be in giving to you, I shall never reach the measure I aspire to."

Browning's view of the matter differed from Elizabeth's. He was alarmed lest marriage should set Elizabeth's health back instead of forward, and he wrote to her, saying:

"I am yours to the end, and God knows I will not consent that

And They Reproach Me
People reproach me for loving him,
and I reproach myself, and beg forgiveness;
yet the moment he appears, I forget
what I vowed, and confess what I hid.
Unawares, my heart lost itself in him,
and I question myself and light
on no reason. To understand passion
is hard for those it afflicts.
My beloved! What do the mischief-makers want
with all they have embroidered and forged?
The lies dissolve in one glance at me
when he comes asking questions,
and my heart flutters, and my tongue
betrays me when I try to excuse myself.
I look at him: no fault of his shows
to my eye, nor does his evil appear;
and there is no beauty, no gladness,
unless his dark face be there.
He lords it, and I bow to him in love;
my soul shrinks small, and he grows proud.
In my two hands his love is a rose
that love tickles — or unfolds.
(From the diwan "The Vial of Perfume," now in press)
Youssef Ghosoub

you bear the least harm for my sake... If anything should come from me that pains you, it will be from ignorance, not from intent!"

The day they had fixed for the wedding came. On a Saturday in early September, Elizabeth left her house as usual. She met Robert in a small bookshop at a modest turning, and a quarter of an hour later they stood hand in hand before the clergyman as he pronounced them man and wife! And Elizabeth went home as though nothing had happened — to wait another week while Robert made ready for the journey. She kept the matter secret even from her brothers and sisters, lest word should leak to her father and he cut off the road to the happiness that awaited her.

At last the seven days passed, and Elizabeth left the house: her dog upon her arm, her personal maid at her side. She met Robert at the same bookshop, and they traveled to Paris, and from there to Florence, then Venice, and other Italian cities which only a year before had been one of Elizabeth's dreams beyond hope of fulfillment!

In the third year of their marriage, when Elizabeth was in her forty-third year, she was blessed with a son, and this event crowned her happiness — how not, when the two lovers beheld the fruit of their love and their devotion?

The two poet-spouses lived in Italy for fifteen years, happiness sheltering them beneath its spreading wings. And they were

wise enough to let not a single thing trouble the serenity of their life together. They would sit down to compose poetry each in a separate room, and not once did they compose together in one room — so much so that when Elizabeth finished composing her immortal love poems, she surprised Robert by slipping the collected sheets into his pocket, and that was the first he knew of them.

In 1861 — the year in which Queen Victoria's husband died — Elizabeth died, stricken by bronchitis. Browning grieved for his mate, forsook her beautiful nest in Italy, and returned to England, where he enjoyed the

wide fame to which he had aspired.

Thirty years later, when it was Browning's lot to sleep his eternal sleep far from his beloved Elizabeth, they sang for him at the hour of burial a hymn of her composing, in homage to her greatness and to immortalize her sweet memory.

Not all the world loves poets, but all the world loves lovers. Thousands upon thousands of people have watched this love story, on the stage and on the screen. And no one denies that these two poets were poets in truth — and that thanks to their love, their devotion, and their life together. Their poetry will remain immortal so long as hearts still beat with noble, undying love.

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