Robert Browning

Dear, dead women, with such hair, too--what's become of all the
gold
Used to hang and brush their read more

Dear, dead women, with such hair, too--what's become of all the
gold
Used to hang and brush their bosoms?

Let my hand,
This hand, lie in your own--my own true friend;
Aprile! Hand-in-hand with you, Aprile!

Let my hand,
This hand, lie in your own--my own true friend;
Aprile! Hand-in-hand with you, Aprile!

Her voice changed like a bird's:
There grew more of the music, and less of the words.

Her voice changed like a bird's:
There grew more of the music, and less of the words.

All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower.

All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower.

In the great right of an excessive wrong.

In the great right of an excessive wrong.