[Gutenberg 56621] • Aurora Leigh

This verse-novel tells the story of a female writer, balancing work and love. It is and based on Elizabeth's own experiences.

Excerpt from Aurora Leigh: A Poem in Nine Books

Aurora Leigh.

First Book.

Of writing many books there is no end;

And I, who have written much in prose and verse

For others' uses, will write now for mine, -

Will write my story for my better self,

As when you paint your portrait for a friend,

Who keeps it in a drawer, and looks at it

Long after he has ceased to love you, just

To hold together what he was and is.

I, writing thus, am still what men call young

I have not so far left the coasts of life

To travel inland, that I cannot hear

That murmur of the outer Infinite

Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep

When wondered at for smiling; not so far,

But still I catch my mother at her post

Beside the nursery-door, with finger up,

"Hush, hush, here's too much noise!" while her sweet eyes

Leap forward, taking part against her word

In the child's riot. Still I sit, and feel

My father's slow hand, when she has left us both,

Stroke out my childish curls across his knee,

And hear Assunta's daily jest (she knew

He liked it better than a better jest)

Inquire how many golden scudi went

To make such ringlets. O my father's hand,

Stroke heavily, heavily, the poor hair down,

Draw, press the child's head closer to thy knee!

I'm still too young, too young, to sit alone.