Robert Browning

And now I begin to wonder naturally whether I may not be

Some sort of a real angel after all.

It is not so bad a thing, be sure, for a woman

To be loved by a man of imagination. He loves her through a lustrous atmosphere

Which not only keeps back the faults but produces

Continual novelty through its own changes.

If ever a being of a higher order lived among us

Without a glory round his head...he is such a being.

I feel to have the power of making him happy...

I feel to have it in my hands.

It is strange that anyone so brilliant should love me.

But true and strange it is...it is impossible for me to

doubt it anymore.

Here am I, in the seventh year of marriage,

Happier than on the seventh day!

The love not only stays, but grows.

He rises on me hour by hour and I am

Bound to him indeed with all the cords of my heart.

And Papa thinks I have sold my soul --

For genius...mere genius!