Elizabeth Barrett Browning

God's prophets of the Beautiful,
These Poets were.

God's prophets of the Beautiful,
These Poets were.

There's not a crime
But takes its proper change out still in crime
If once rung on read more

There's not a crime
But takes its proper change out still in crime
If once rung on the counter of this world.

Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
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Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer;
Growing straight out of man's reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.

How joyously the young sea-mew
Lay dreaming on the waters blue,
Whereon our little bark had thrown
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How joyously the young sea-mew
Lay dreaming on the waters blue,
Whereon our little bark had thrown
A little shade, the only one;
But shadows ever man pursue.

"There's nothing great
Nor small," has said a poet of our day,
Whose voice will ring beyond read more

"There's nothing great
Nor small," has said a poet of our day,
Whose voice will ring beyond the curfew of eve
And not be thrown out by the matin's bell.