Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead.
She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed,--
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Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead.
She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed,--
And both turned into flowers for the earth's garden-close;
Her tears, to the wind-flower,--his blood, to the rose.

First time he kiss'd me, he but only kiss'd
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
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First time he kiss'd me, he but only kiss'd
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever since it grew more clean and white.

Let no one till his death
Be called unhappy. Measure not the work
Until the day's out read more

Let no one till his death
Be called unhappy. Measure not the work
Until the day's out and the labour done.

Let no one till his death be called unhappy. Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor read more

Let no one till his death be called unhappy. Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor done.

God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers,
And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face,
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God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers,
And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face,
A gauntlet with a gift in 't.