There are probably few men who truly enjoy a good love story more than me.  For movies a few favorites off the top of my head are: Casablanca, Time Traveler’s Wife, Pretty Woman, City of Angels, Before Sunrise, Hope Floats, Sommersby, Notting Hill, and The Lake House.

Love stories unfolded in books I have enjoyed include:  The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks, A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway, The Bridges of Madison Country by Robert James Waller, Love Story by Erich Segal and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.

Then there are the poets whose delicate weaving of language and love have touched me.  A few of them are Emily Dickenson, Lord Byron, Wendy Cope, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Sara Teasdale and William Butler Yeats.

However, there is nothing filmed or published that stirs my soul more than the love story of Victorian poets Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning. Barrett received a telegram from an admirer named Robert Browning. He wrote, “I love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett…”   This began a secret courtship, conducted primarily in frequent letters back and forth, that was kept from Elizabeth’s wealthy father, who did not approve.  Elizabeth and Robert eloped and were married on September 12, 1846.  As soon as he learned of the wedding, Elizabeth’s father promptly disinherited her.

The marriage was happy and Robert fawned over his wife, encouraging her work and taking care of her. While she never completely recovered from an illness that began in childhood, Elizabeth’s health improved a great deal during the 15 years of their marriage.  On June 29, 1861, Elizabeth Barrett Browning died at the age of 55 in the arms of her husband.  Robert was devastated and for a long time was inconsolable.  He lived another 28 years and never remarried.

There is a two volume set of the letters between Elizabeth and Robert published by their son in 1898.  The majority of  the content of the letters is written about day to day life and people they knew, often in what I would call “old-speak”.  But also contained are expressions of emotion that seem contemporary even today 160+ years after they were written.

Elizabeth to Robert Sept 25 1945:  You have touched me more profoundly than I thought even you could have touched me.  Hence forward I am yours for everything but to do you harm…

Robert to Elizabeth on Oct 30, 1845:  This is my first song, my true song, this love I bear you.  I look into my heart and then let it go forth under that name – love.  I am more than mistrustful of many other feelings in me:  they are not earnest enough; so far true enough.  But this is all the flower of my life which you call forth and which lies at your feet…

Elizabeth to Robert on Nov 27, 1845: You have come to me as a dream comes, as the best of dreams come…

Robert to Elizabeth Dec 20, 1845:  I do not, nor will not think, dearest of ever ‘making you happy’.  I can imagine no way of working that end, which does not go straight to my own truest, only true happiness…

Elizabeth to Robert Jan 9 1846:  If you were to leave me even, to decide that it is best for you to do it, and do it, never should I nor could I regret having known you and loved you…

Robert to ElizabethJan 26, 1846:  My love for you was in the first instance its own reward…

Elizabeth to Robert Feb 16, 1846:  I was decided from the first hour when I admitted the possibility of your loving me really I am more thine than my own.  It is a literal truth and my future belongs to you.  If it was mine, it was mine to give, and if it was mine to give, it was given…

Robert to ElizabethApril 18, 1846:  I do adore you, more and more, as I live to see more, and feel more… 

Elizabeth to Robert August 26, 1846:   How I wish for two hearts to love you with, and two lives to give to you, and two souls to bear the weight worthily of all you have given to me.  But if one heart and one life will do, they are yours.  I can not give them again…

Today and as I sit here and write it is the gratitude for the purveyors of the sentiments of love that I feel.  When I have doubted if love was real or possible or suffered most from the pain of loving they are the ones who have kept the spark in my heart.  There is much thankfulness within me for the authors, actors, letter writers and poets who have picked me up when I needed it.  It is they who enabled me to keep my belief in love from withering and dying.

What lies behind us, and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.
Ralph Waldo Emerson