I. Send. Him. Poems.

What is an English degree good for, but to send your BF sappy poems?

I was looking at some poetry tonight and I re-found one of my favorite love poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. She is pretty much the macdaddy of love poetry. She coined the term "how do I love thee, let me count the ways." Yeah, she wrote that. Her husband's poetry is beyond amazing, but pretty twisted. I happen to like twisted writers. I shall give you some examples, have no fear! The Brownings were both obsessed with the color purple. Why? Purple is the mix of the primary colors red and blue. Red is a symbol of the heart and blue is a symbol of the head. Thus, purple is the perfect mixture of head and heart. It's really a beautiful image and since my Brit Lit class I've been a wee bit obsessed with it myself. I would wear a amethyst ring, and only I would get it.

Loads of beautiful imagery in Elizabeth's sonnet 38:

First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever since, it grew more clean and white,
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its 'Oh, list,'
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight,
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!
That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
I have been proud and said, 'My love, my own.'

Found the purple? And notice his pattern of kissing: bottom, top, middle.

And now Robert Browning. Twisted, but when you dig deep you find...it might not be that crazy. I've taken whole classes on this poem and I've spent a lot of time breaking it down. People with porphyria pee purple and this poem is called Porphyria's lover. King George III was thought to have had this disease. Browning compares love to this maddening disorder. You may wonder what amount of "head" or thinking things through is involved with his actions but see how he justifies things to himself...

The rain set early in tonight,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm'right-tops down for spite,
and did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me--she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavor,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me forever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshiped me: surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet god has not said a word!

Don't worry, the first time I thought it was crazy, I may have even hated it. A lot needs explaining, but it really is beautiful.

Even though I hate my major now... maybe I am still an English dork, deep, deep, down.