En bild och en dikt

In a Garret Thomas 

P. Anshutz, 1891

När jag råkade på den här bilden häromdagen kom jag att tänka på Elizabeth Barrett Brownings dikt (fast det inte finns så många böcker på bilden):

The Library in the Garret

Books, books, books!
I had found the secret of a garret-room
Piled high with cases in my father's name;
Piled high, packed large, - where, creeping in and out
Among the giant fossils of my past,
Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs
Of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there
At this or that box, pulling through the gap,
In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy,
The first book first. And how I felt it beat
Under my pillow, in the morning's dark,
An hour before the sun would let me read!
My books! ...
                                  Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

Grattis Elizabeth!

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

6 mars 1806 – 29 juni 1861

Även om man finner många av Elizabeths poem sentimentala, är det svårt att inte fångas av hennes, bitvis hårda, men slutligen romantiska, levnadssöde.

XXII

When our two souls stand up erect and strong,

Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,

Until the lengthening wings break into fire

At either curvèd 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, Belovèd,—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.