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Poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnets from the Portuguese. 3. Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
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,Чon mine, the dew,Ч And Death must dig the level where these agree.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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