Sonnet III
Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart !
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
Our ministering two angels look surprise
On one another, as they strike athwart
Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art
A guest for queens to social pageantries,
With gages from a hundred brighter eyes
Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part
Of chief musician. What hast thou to do
With looking from the lattice-lights at me,
A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through
The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree ?
The chrism is on thine head,--on mine, the dew,--
And Death must dig the level where these agree.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Vous avez aimé cette poésie ? faites la connaître !
D'autres poésies de Elizabeth Barrett Browning
A Child Asleep
How he sleepeth! having drunken
Weary...
A Curse For A Nation
I heard an angel speak last night,
And he said...
A Man's Requirements
I
Love me Sweet, with all thou art,
Feeling,...
A Musical Instrument
What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the...
A Sea-Side Walk
We walked beside the sea,
After a day which perished...
A Thought For A Lonely Death-Bed
IF God compel thee to this destiny,
To die alone, with...
A Woman's Shortcomings
She has laughed as softly as if she sighed,
She has...
A Year's Spinning
1
He listened at the porch that day,
To hear the...
Adequacy
NOW, by the verdure on thy thousand hills,
Beloved...
An Apprehension
IF all the gentlest-hearted friends I know
Concentred in...
Précédentes poésies
Villonaud for This Yule
Towards the Noel that morte saison
(Christ make the...
Villanelle: The Psychological Hour
I had over prepared the event,
that much was ominous.
Ts'ai Chi'h
The petals fall in the fountain,
the orange-coloured...
These Fought in Any Case
These fought in any case,
and some believing
pro...
The Tree
I stood still and was a tree amid the wood,
Knowing the...
