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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=383902" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XX</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=383902" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Beloved, my Beloved, when I think<br>That thou wast in the world a year ago,<br>What time I sat alone here in the snow<br>And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink<br>No moment at thy voice, but, link by link,<br>Went counting all my chains as if that so<br>They never could fall off at any blow<br>Struck by thy possible hand,--why, thus I drink<br>Of life's great cup of wonder ! Wonderful,<br>Never to feel thee thrill the day or night<br>With personal act or speech,--nor ever cull<br>Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white<br>Thou sawest growing ! Atheists are as dull,<br>Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Barrett+Browning">Elizabeth Barrett Browning</a></strong></div>

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