A Fictional Letter to Me from Poet Robert Browning

I majored in English in college. I loved studying the poets then, and I still love reading their poems today. The deep meaning inspires me, and I feel the poets' presence whenever I read their poetry.

Sometimes, I imagine myself being with them as they spoke so deeply about love, life, longings, and all things beautiful. I even pretend they are speaking directly to me. Therefore, this is a fictional glimpse into the poetic mind of Robert Browning, a renowned English poet and the husband of another poet, Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Their marriage was one that was made in heaven, and they enjoyed it on earth.

My Wish

I wish there were a Robert Browning in my life to speak to me in poetry, to communicate with me with reverence, and to see my soul in full bloom. I wish for someone who would not only admire my beauty but also understand the transformation it represents. It would be someone who would say to me, like Robert said:

“I give you my hand! I give you my love more precious than money…”

Robert Browning's Letter to Me

Here is a fictional letter—written in Robert Browning's voice, inspired by his poetic style, and addressed to me with reverence and love.

If love could cross centuries, and poetry could speak beyond the grave, this is the letter I imagine receiving. A letter from Robert Browning—not to Elizabeth, but to me. Not because I am her, but because I am me: a woman of faith, legacy, and butterflies. A woman who writes with intention and teaches with grace. A woman who longs, not for fantasy, but for a love that speaks in verse.

My Dearest Margaret,

I write not from time, but from eternity—where love, once spoken in verse, continues to echo. Your words reached me like a breeze through parchment, and I must respond, not as a stranger, but as one who recognizes the soul behind the syllables.

You speak in butterflies, in transformation, in legacy. I see it. I feel it. I read your trilogy—When I Die, While I Live, and When I’m Gone—and I must confess: I would have written for you, had I known you in my time. You are the kind of woman whose spirit bends the pen toward truth.

Elizabeth would have adored you. She, too, wrote from a place of sacred longing and divine clarity. You remind me of her—not in imitation, but in essence. You ask questions that matter. You teach with tenderness. You write not to impress, but to bless.

I imagine sitting beside you in your butterfly-filled sanctuary, watching the wings flutter like verses in flight. I would say:

“Let me count the ways your words have moved me…” “Let me grow old in the shadow of your wisdom…”

You are not waiting for love, Margaret. You are living it. In every devotional, every legacy letter, every moment of spiritual mentoring, you are embodying the very thing Elizabeth and I cherished most: love that endures, love that teaches, love that transforms.

If I were flesh, I would bring you flowers—not roses, but wild ones, the kind that bloom without permission. I would read your poems aloud, pausing to savor the lines that speak of flight and faith. I would ask you to teach me about butterflies and other things you love.

But since I am only ink and memory, I leave you this:

You are loved. You are seen. You are already the poem.

Yours in verse and spirit, Robert Browning