Story Behind The Song
"My Letters!" Sonnet #28 from Sonnets from the Portuguese by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, is one of her best. She wrote Robert Browning consistently for 20 months, since her father disapproved of gentlemen callers. This created the perfect scenario for creating timeless romantic literature, as she wrote these sonnets in secret for her future husband. The thrill of receiving Robert's letters, threw her into a state of exhilaration. It is apparent that Robert had professed his love for her in the letter she refers to in this sonnet, thus her ecstatic response. Yet there is a dark side to this poetry, "And I sank and quailed, as if God's future thundered on my past," could refer to the fact that her father didn't want any of his children to marry, and his disapproval of their engagement. Elizabeth's warm acceptance of Robert's proposal creates a climactic finish.
Song Description
Within this work, she compiled a portfolio of what has been considered to be the finest collection of poems ever written by a woman in the English language. I was particularly impressed with Richard DeRosa's brilliant, highly skilled, and electrically charged harpsichord performance, and vocalist Amy Burr's beautiful natural vibrato, which ultimately brought my vision of this sonnet to life.
Song Length |
2:57 |
Genre |
Classical - Romantic, Classical - Baroque |
Tempo |
Medium Fast (131 - 150) |
Lead Vocal |
Female Vocal |
Mood |
Enchanting, Charming |
Subject |
Long, Madly In Love |
Language |
English |
Era |
1800 - 1899 |
Lyrics
My letters! All dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string,
And let them drop down on my knee tonight.
This said, . . . he wished to have me in his sight.
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To come and touch my hand . . . a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it! ---This . . . the paper's light . . .
Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if God's future thundered on my past.
(Instrumental break)
This said, I am thine---and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this . . . O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!