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<strong>De Profundis</strong><strong>I</strong>
The face, which, duly as the sun,
Rose up for me with life begun,
To mark all bright hours of the day
With hourly love, is dimmed away—
A my days go on, go on.
<strong>II</strong>
The tongue which, like a stream, could run
Smooth musi the roughest stone,
And every m with Good day
Make each day good, is hushed away,
A my days go on, go on.
<strong>III</strong>
The heart which, like a staff, was one
For mio lean a upon,
The stro on the lo day
With s<code>?９9ｌｉb?</code>teadfast love, is caught away,
A my days go on, go on.
<strong>IV</strong>
And cold before my summers done,
And deaf in Natures general tune,
And fallen too low for special fear,
And here, with hope no longer here,
While the tears drop, my days go on.
<strong>V</strong>
The woes whispering to its own,
‘This anguish pierces to the bone;’
And tender friends go sighing round,
‘What love ever cure this wound ?
My days go on, my days go on.
<strong>VI</strong>
The past rolls forward on the sun
And makes all night. O dreams begun,
Not to be ended! Ended bliss,
And life that will not end in this!
My days go on, my days go on.
<strong>VII</strong>
Breath freezes on my lips to moan:
As one alone, o alone,
I sit and knock at Natures door,
Heart-bare, heart-hungry, very poor,
Whose desolated days go on.
<strong>VIII</strong>
I knod cry, —Undone, undone!
Is there no help, no fort, —none?
No gleaning in the wide lains
Where others drive their loaded wains?
My vat days go on, go on.
<strong>IX</strong>
This Nature, though the snows be down,
Thinks kindly of the bird of June:
The little red hip oree
Is ripe for such. What is for me,
Whose days so winterly go on?
<strong>X</strong>
No bird am I, to sing in June,
And dare not ask an equal boon.
Good s and berries red are Natures
To give away to better creatures, —
A my days go on, go on.
<strong>XI</strong>
I ask less kio be done, —
Only to loose these pilgrim shoon,
(Too early worn and grimed) with sweet
Cool deadly touch to these tired feet.
Till days go out whiow go on.
<strong>XII</strong>
Only to lift the turf unmown
From off the earth where it has grown,
Some cubit-space, and say ‘Behold,
Creep in, poor Heart, beh that fold,
Fetting how the days go on.’
<strong>XIII</strong>
What harm would that do? Green anon
The sward would qui, overshone
By skies as blue; and crickets might
Have leave to chirp there day and night
While my new rest went o on.
<strong>XIV</strong>
From gracious Nature have I won
Such liberal bounty? may I run
So, lizard-like, within her side,
And there be safe, who now am tried
By days <var>藏书网</var>that painfully go on?
<strong>XV</strong><dfn></dfn>
—A Voice reproves me thereupon,
More sweet than Natures when the drone
Of bees is sweetest, and more deep
Thahe rivers overleap
The shuddering pines, and thunder on.
<strong>XVI</strong>
Gods Voiot Natures! Night and noon
He sits upon the great white throne
And listens for the creatures praise.
What babble we of days and days?
The Day-spring He, whose days go on.
<strong>XVII</strong>
He reigns above, He reigns alone;
Systems burn out and have his throne;
Fair mists of seraphs melt and fall
Around Him, geless amid all,
A of Days, whose days go on.
<strong>XVIII</strong>
He reigns below, He reigns alone,
And, having life in love fone
Beh the of sovran thorns,
He reigns the Jealous God. Who mourns
Or rules with Him, while days go on?
<strong>XIX</strong>
By anguish which made pale the sun,
I hear Him charge his saints that none
Among his creatures anywhere
Blaspheme against Him with despair,
However darkly days go on.
<strong>XX</strong>
Take from my head the thorh brown!
No mortal grief deser<a></a>ves that .
O supreme Love, chief misery,
The sharp regalia are for Thee
Whose days eternally go on!
<strong>XXI</strong>
For us, —whatevers undergone,
Thou k, willest what is done,
Grief may be joy misuood;
Only the Good diss the good.
I trust Thee while my days go on.
<strong>XXII</strong>
Whatevers lost, it first was won;
We will not strugg<big>99lib.</big>le nor impugn.
Perhaps the cup was broken here,
That Heavens new wine might show more clear.
I praise Thee while my days go on.
<strong>XXIII</strong>
I praise Thee while my days go on;
I love Thee while my days go on:
Through dark ah, through fire and frost,
With emptied arms and treasure lost,
I thank Thee while my days go on.
<strong>XXIV</strong>
And having in thy life-depth thrown
Being and suffering (which are one),
As a child drops his pebble small
Down some deep well, and hears it fall
Smiling—so I. THY DAYS GO ON.
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>
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