Sonnet XVII
My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes
God set between his After and Before,
And strike up and strike off the general roar
Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats
In a serene air purely. Antidotes
Of medicated music, answering for
Mankind's forlornest uses, thou canst pour
From thence into their ears. God's will devotes
Thine to such ends, and mine to wait on thine.
How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use ?
A hope, to sing by gladly ? or a fine
Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse ?
A shade, in which to sing--of palm or pine ?
A grave, on which to rest from singing ? Choose.
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
Sonnet XVII
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or...
Sonnet XI
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and...
Sonnet VIII
If your eyes were not the color of the moon,
of a day full...
Sonnet LXXXI
And now you're mine. Rest with your dream in my dream.
Sonata
Neither the heart cut by a piece of glass
in a wasteland...
