From ‘The Soul’s Travelling’

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    <strong>From ‘The Soul’s Travelling’</strong><big>藏书网</big>

    God, God!

    With a child’s voice I cry,

    Weak, sad, fidingly—

    God, God!

    Thou k, eyelids, raised not always up

    Unto Thy love (as none of ours are), droop

    As ours, o’er many a tear!

    Thou k, though Thy universe is broad,

    Two little tears suffice to cover all:

    Thou k, Thou, who art sal

    Of beauty, we are oft but stri deer

    Expiring in the woods—that care for none

    Of those delightsome flowers they die upon.

    O blissful Mouth which<cite>藏书网</cite> breathed the mournful breath

    We name our souls,<figure></figure> self-spoilt!—by that strong passion

    Which paled Thee oh sighs,—by that stroh

    Which made Thee on<dfn>.99lib.</dfhing—from the wrack

    Themselves have called around them, call them back,

    Back to Thee in tinuous aspiration!

    For here, O Lord,

    For here they travel vainly,—vainly pass

    From city-pavement to untrodden sw<q></q>ard,

    Where the lark finds her deep  in the grass

    Cold with the earth’s last dew. Yea, very vain

    The greatest speed of all these souls of men

    Uhey travel upward to the throne

    Where sittest THOU, the satisfying ONE,

    With help for sins and holy perfegs

    For all requirements—while the argel, raising

    Unto Thy face his full ecstatic gazing,

    Fets the rush and rapture of his wings.

    <strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>

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