Elizabeth Barrett Browning — My Heart and I

I. Enough! we’re tired, my heart and I.        &nbspWe sit beside the headstone thus,        &nbspAnd wish that name were carved for us. The moss reprints more tenderly        &nbspThe hard types of the mason’s knife,        &nbspAs heaven’s sweet life renews earth’s life With which we’re tired, my heart and I. II. You see we’re tired, my heart and I.        &nbspWe dealt with books, we trusted men,        &nbspAnd in our own blood drenched the pen, As if such colours could not fly.        &nbspWe walked too straight for fortune’s end,        &nbspWe loved too true to keep a friend; At last we’re tired, my heart and I. III. How tired we feel, my heart and I!        &nbspWe seem of no use in the world;        &nbspOur fancies hang grey and uncurled About men’s eyes indifferently;        &nbspOur voice which thrilled you so, will let        &nbspYou sleep; our tears are only wet: What do we here, my heart and I? IV. So tired, so tired, my heart and I!        &nbspIt was not thus in that old time        &nbspWhen Ralph sat with me ’neath the lime To watch the sunset from the sky.        &nbsp“Dear love, you’re looking tired,” he said;        &nbspI, smiling at him, shook my head: ’T is now we’re tired, my heart and I. V. So tired, so tired, my heart and I!        &nbspThough now none takes me on his arm        &nbspTo fold me close and kiss me warm Till each quick breath end in a sigh        &nbspOf happy languor. Now, alone,        &nbspWe lean upon this graveyard stone, Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I. VI. Tired out we are, my heart and I.        &nbspSuppose the world brought diadems        &nbspTo tempt us, crusted with loose gems Of powers and pleasures? Let it try.        &nbspWe scarcely care to look at even        &nbspA pretty child, or God’s blue heaven, We feel so tired, my heart and I. VII. Yet who complains? My heart and I?        &nbspIn this abundant earth no doubt        &nbspIs little room for things worn out: Disdain them, break them, throw them by!        &nbspAnd if before the days grew rough        &nbspWe once were loved, used,—well enough, I think, we’ve fared, my heart and I.