Yet, love, mere love, is
beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire
is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax; an
equal light
Leaps in the flame from
cedar-plank or weed:
And love is fire. And when I say
at need
I love thee . . . mark! . . . I
love thee—in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified
aright,
With conscience of the new rays
that proceed
Out of my face toward thine.
There's nothing low
In love, when love the lowest:
meanest creatures
Who love God, God accepts while
loving so.
And what I feel, across the inferior
features
Of what I am, doth flash itself,
and show
How that great work of Love
enhances Nature's.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
(England 1806 – Italy 1861)
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