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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=383966" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>V</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=383966" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,<br>As once Electra her sepulchral urn,<br>And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn<br>The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see<br>What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,<br>And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn<br>Through the ashen grayness. If thy foot in scorn<br>Could tread them out to darkness utterly,<br>It might be well perhaps. But if instead<br>Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow<br>The gray dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,<br>O my Beloved, will not shield thee so,<br>That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred<br>The hair beneath. Stand farther off then ! go.</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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