I stole this from Orangette who stole it from Garrison Keillor’s The Writer's Almanac
“It's the anniversary of the day that poets Robert Browning, 34, and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 44, eloped (1846). They had married secretly seven days earlier in St. Marylbone Church in London. Their witnesses were Robert's cousin James Silverthorne and Elizabeth's maid, Elizabeth Wilson. The next day, a Sunday afternoon, Robert wrote to her that she had proved her love for him and that he would spend his life trying to prove his affection for her. He wrote, "Do you feel what I mean, dearest? How you have dared and done all this, under my very eyes, for my only sake? My own eyes have seen—my heart will remember!"
The Brownings met for the first time in 1845 and over the next twenty months exchanged 574 letters. Elizabeth's father didn't want her to marry, so their courtship and marriage were kept a secret. During the six days between their wedding and the day they eloped to Florence, Elizabeth wrote letters to her friends and family, and to her father. Her letters revealed everything. They were her only goodbye. When the letters were read, she would be gone.
The night before they eloped, Elizabeth wrote to Robert, "Is this my last letter to you, ever dearest?—Oh, —if I loved you less ... a little, little less."
Robert and Elizabeth read and critiqued each other's poetry, and while together they wrote the best poetry of their lives. Robert often called Elizabeth "my little Portuguese" because of her dark complexion.
In 1850 she published her most famous work, a collection of poems called Sonnets from the Portuguese. In it, she wrote, "If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange / And be all to me?"
And, also from Sonnets from the Portuguese: "Beloved, my Beloved, when I think / That thou wast in the world a year ago, / What time I sat alone here in the snow / And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink ..."
On the morning of June 29, 1861, as Elizabeth lay dying, Robert fed her jelly with a spoon. "Our lives are held by God," she said. A short time later, she died in his arms.”
How beautiful is this? Can you imagine writing someone 574 letters in 20 months (My friend Jane is thinking to herself “Well, I know you couldn’t because you never even write me a damn letter”) And how cool is it that he’s 10 years younger than she is. I know it’s corny but when I read this I felt really happy. With all the death, war, and violence going on, a little love and passion is just what we all need.
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