Elizabeth Barrett-Browning (Элизабет Барретт-Браунинг)

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WHEN some beloved voice that was to you
Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly,
And silence, against which you dare not cry,
Aches round you like a strong disease and new—
What hope ? what help ? what music will undo
That silence to your sense ? Not friendship's sigh,
Not reason's subtle count; not melody
Of viols, nor of pipes that Faunus blew;
Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales
Whose hearts leap upward through the cypress-trees
To the clear moon; nor yet the spheric laws
Self-chanted, nor the angels' sweet ' All hails,'
Met in the smile of God: nay, none of these.
Speak THOU, availing Christ !—and fill this pause.

1. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 30. I see thine image through my tears to-night
2. To Flush, My Dog
3. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 20. Belovëd, my Belovëd, when I think
4. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 12. Indeed this very love which is my boast
5. Aurora Leigh. Ninth Book

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