When our two souls stand up erect and strong ,
Face to face , silent , drawing nigh and nigher ,
Until the lightening wings break into fire
At either curved point , -- what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us , that we should not long
Be here contented ? Think , in mounting higher ,
The angels would press on us , and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep , dear silence , let us stay
Rather on earth , Beloved , -- where the
Unfit contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits , and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day ,
With darkness and the death - hour rounding it .

" Sonnets From The Portuguese XXII "
--- Elizabeth Barrett Browning
( 1806 - 1861 )