Poem

Dear my friend and fellow student, I would lean my spirit o'er you!
Down the purple of this chamber, tears should scarcely run at will.
I am humbled who was humble. Friend, -- I bow my head before you.
You should lead me to my peasants, -- but their faces are too still. 

There's a lady -- an earl's daughter, -- she is proud and she is noble,
And she treads the crimson carpet, and she breathes the perfumed air,
And a kingly blood sends glances up her princely eye to trouble,
And the shadow of a monarch's crown is softened in her hair. 

She has halls among the woodlands, she has castles by the breakers,
She has farms and she has manors, she can threaten and command,
And the palpitating engines snort in steam across her acres,
As they mark upon the blasted heaven the measure of the land. 

There are none of England's daughters who can show a prouder presence;
Upon princely suitors praying, she has looked in her disdain.
She was sprung of English nobles, I was born of English peasants;
What was I that I should love her -- save for competence to pain?

That is the beginning of Lady Geraldine's Courtship, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and you can tell, because you are clever, it sounds a lot like the Raven. I didn't want to say the name first because you'd be put off immediately.

Poe said it was the basis for the Raven. Admired it, raved about it, *ducks* in fact, copied it, and thankfully kept his a lot shorter.

lines 1-100 here, if you care to follow, and it goes on. And by on, I mean on and on, takes 4 more pages to line 412.

Thus, her foot upon the new-mown grass, bareheaded, with the flowing
Of the virginal white vesture gathered closely to her throat, --
And the golden ringlets in her neck just quickened by her going,
And appearing to breathe sun for air, and doubting if to float, -- 

With a branch of dewy maple, which her right hand held above her,
And which trembled a green shadow in betwixt her and the skies,
As she turned her face in going, thus, she drew me on to love her,
And to worship the divineness of the smile hid in her eyes.

Goodness. It is the sort of thing that once you get going it becomes hard to stop, the drumbeat keeps drumming and your story keeps telling itself. Poe said he liked the internal rhymes and the alliteration. That's what Wikipedia says Poe said.

Let's skip to somewhere in the 200's to see what Lady Geraldine gets up to. Because this is important! It is the person Flip Wilson based his character on.

Oops. Picked one where he's talking about himself, the poet. So a different one.

Oh, to see or hear her singing! scarce I know which is divinest --
For her looks sing too -- she modulates her gestures on the tune;
And her mouth stirs with the song, like song; and when the notes are finest
'Tis the eyes that shoot out vocal light and seem to sell them on. 

Then we talked -- oh, how we talked! her voice, so cadenced in the talking,
Made another singing -- of the soul! a music without bars;
While the leafy sounds of woodlands, humming round where we were walking,
Brought interposition worthy-sweet, -- as skies about the stars.

Dreamy.

Let's skip again to something in the 300's

I plucked up her social fictions, bloody-rooted though leaf-verdant, --
Trod them down with words of shaming, -- all the purple and the gold,
All the 'landed stakes' and lordships, all, that spirits pure and ardent
Are cast out of love and honour because chancing not to hold. 

'For myself I do not argue,' said I, 'though I love you, madam,
But for better souls that nearer to the height of yours have trod;
And this age shows, to my thinking, still more infidels to Adam,
Than directly, by profession, simple infidels to God.

Wow. I can see why Poe was impressed. But honestly, this is too many words for me, I can't hold it.

But what happens? Skip to the end.

Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling,
While the silver tears ran faster down the blushing of her cheeks;
Then with both her hands enfolding both of his, she softly told him,
'Bertram, if I say I love thee,. . . 'tis the vision only speaks.' 

Softened, quickened to adore her, on his knee he fell before her --
And she whispered low in triumph, 'It shall be as I have sworn!
Very rich is he in virtues, -- very noble -- noble, certes;
And I shall not blush in knowing that men call him lowly born.'

He proposes, she accepts. Aaaah. I am deeply moved. Even skimming it, that's how shallow I am. I only wanted to know about it not know all about it inside and out.