NOW, by the verdure on thy thousand hills,
Beloved England, doth the earth appear
Quite good enough for men to overbear
The will of God in, with rebellious wills !
We cannot say the morning-sun fulfils
Ingloriously its course, nor that the clear
Strong stars without significance insphere
Our habitation: we, meantime, our ills
Heap up against this good and lift a cry
Against this work-day world, this ill-spread feast,
As if ourselves were better certainly
Than what we come to. Maker and High Priest,
I ask thee not my joys to multiply,--
Only to make me worthier of the least.
(C) Elizabeth Barrett Browning
03/21/2017
Best Poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning
- Xxx
- Sonnet 24 - Let The Worlds Sharpness, Like A Clasping Knife
- Sonnet 21 - Say Over Again, And Yet Once Over Again
- Sonnet 06 - Go From Me. Yet I Feel That I Shall Stand
- Sonnet 26 - I Lived With Visions For My Company
- The Cry Of The Children
- A Musical Instrument
- The Best Thing In The World
- Sonnet 10 - Yet, Love, Mere Love, Is Beautiful Indeed
- Sonnet 42 - my Future Will Not Copy Fair My Past
- Sonnet Ii
- Sonnet 27 - My Own Beloved, Who Hast Lifted Me
- Sonnet 35 - If I Leave All For Thee, Wilt Thou Exchange
- Bianca Among The Nightingales
- Grief
- Sonnet 36 - When We Met First And Loved, I Did Not Build
- Sonnet 25 - A Heavy Heart, Beloved, Have I Borne
- Sonnet 03 - Unlike Are We, Unlike, O Princely Heart!
- Sonnet 11 - And Therefore If To Love Can Be Desert
- Sonnet 09 - Can It Be Right To Give What I Can Give?
- Sonnet 18 - I Never Gave A Lock Of Hair Away