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Poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning


The Prisoner


I count the dismal time by months and years
Since last I felt the green sward under foot,
And the great breath of all things summer-
Met mine upon my lips. Now earth appears
As strange to me as dreams of distant spheres
Or thoughts of Heaven we weep at. Nature's lute
Sounds on, behind this door so closely shut,
A strange wild music to the prisoner's ears,
Dilated by the distance, till the brain
Grows dim with fancies which it feels too
While ever, with a visionary pain,
Past the precluded senses, sweep and Rhine
Streams, forests, glades, and many a golden train
Of sunlit hills transfigured to Divine. 



Elizabeth Barrett Browning


Elizabeth Barrett Browning's other poems:
  1. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 30. I see thine image through my tears to-night
  2. The Sweetness of England
  3. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 22. When our two souls stand up erect and strong
  4. Aurora Leigh. Ninth Book
  5. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 18. I never gave a lock of hair away


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Emily Brontë The Prisoner ("Still let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear")
  • Robert Service The Prisoner ("Upspoke the culprit at the bar")
  • Lucy Montgomery The Prisoner ("I lash and writhe against my prison bars")

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