Spiritual Spice: The Imprisoned Splendor

Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise

From outward things, whate'er you may believe.

There is an inmost center in us all,

Where truth abides in fullness; and around,

Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in,

This perfect, clear perception which is truth.

A baffling and perverting carnal mesh

Binds it, and makes all error: and, to KNOW,

Rather consists in opening out a way

Whence the imprisoned splendor may escape,

Than in effecting an entry for a light

Supposed to be without.

Robert Browning (1812-1889) from Paracelsus

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

Robert Browning's pet name for his wife Elizabeth was "My Portuguese." This was due to her "mediterranean" complexion, which was darker than usually seen in England in those days.

Hence the title of her most famous book -- Sonnets From the Portuguese. The above poem is from that book.

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