The very structure demonstrates the endurance and permanence of love. Though it jumps across time, from childhood till ‘ after death‘, the poem also displays how this depth of feeling has only slowly built up, through almost imperceptable changes, while still maintaining its initial state. Progression is delicate, often through half rhymes, and shows a poetic voice luxuriating in emotion. This information is about the head not the heart though, Barrett Browning uses the highly restricted form to allow ideas to flow seamlessly from line to line. The Petrarchan sonnet form is much more fluid, with an octet followed by a sestet and only four or five rhymes in total. Overall, you need seven pairs of words that rhyme to make up your sonnet (I realise it’s more complex than that, but I’m a terrible poet and all of my attempts at sonnets have been made up of trying to crowbar rhymes into the right place). It is also much easier if you’re writing in English, a language which has few suffixes, because you only need to rhyme one end word with one other end word.
This means the poem is naturally split up into short sections, each contained by the rhymes (ABBA or ABAB).
Sonnets contain 14 lines and the Elizabethans grouped these into three quartets followed by a rhyming couplet. I like to think I’ve grown up since then, and have realised that it’s possible to like more than one poet within the literary canon, but my point about the complexity of the structure still stands. In fact, as a teenager, I’m afraid this poem made me somewhat dismissive of Shakespeare and his choice of an ‘easier’ form. It was the first non-Shakespearean sonnet I ever read. It’s just too tempting to go with a list of how much I adore this poem, though I know my maths will end up being faulty because a short blog post can never do full justice to this most powerful of love poems.ġ. Number 43 in the Barrett Browning’s sequence ‘Sonnets from the Portuguese’ is an enduring favourite and I defy anyone to read it and remain unmoved. I’m not going for cynicism today though, instead I’m going to revel in one of the most perfect love poems ever written. Valentine’s day can be a time for cliches, commercialisation and churlish rage. I shall but love thee better after death. Smiles, tears, of all my life and, if God choose, In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight I love thee to the depth and breadth and height How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
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