Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Thy lips which spake wrong counsel, I kiss close.

Thy lips which spake wrong counsel, I kiss close.

The place is all awave with trees,
Limes, myrtles, purple-beaded,
Acacias having drunk the lees
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The place is all awave with trees,
Limes, myrtles, purple-beaded,
Acacias having drunk the lees
Of the night-dew, fain headed,
And wan, grey olive-woods, which seem
The fittest foliage for a dream.

That headlong ivy! not a leaf will grow
But thinking of a wreath, . . .
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That headlong ivy! not a leaf will grow
But thinking of a wreath, . . .
I like such ivy; bold to leap a height
'Twas strong to climb! as good to grow on graves
As twist about a thyrsus; pretty too
(And that's not ill) when twisted round a comb.

"For if I wait," said she,
"Till time for roses be,--
For the moss-rose and the musk-rose,
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"For if I wait," said she,
"Till time for roses be,--
For the moss-rose and the musk-rose,
Maiden-blush and royal-dusk rose,--
"What glory then for me
In such a company?--
Roses plenty, roses plenty
And one nightingale for twenty?"

World's use is cold, world's love is vain,
World's cruelty is bitter bane;
But pain is not read more

World's use is cold, world's love is vain,
World's cruelty is bitter bane;
But pain is not the fruit of pain.