Maxioms by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
For poets (bear the word)
Half-poets even, are still whole democrats.
For poets (bear the word)
Half-poets even, are still whole democrats.
How he sleepeth! having drunken
Weary childhood's mandragore,
From his pretty eyes have sunken
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How he sleepeth! having drunken
Weary childhood's mandragore,
From his pretty eyes have sunken
Pleasures to make room for more--
Sleeping near the withered nosegay which he pulled the day
before.
In this bad, twisted, topsy-turvy world,
Where all the heaviest wrongs get uppermost.
In this bad, twisted, topsy-turvy world,
Where all the heaviest wrongs get uppermost.
And that dismal cry rose slowly
And sank slowly through the air,
Full of spirit's melancholy
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And that dismal cry rose slowly
And sank slowly through the air,
Full of spirit's melancholy
And eternity's despair!
And they heart the words it said--
Pan is dead! great Pan is dead!
Pan, Pan is dead!
The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise,
I barter for curl upon that mart.
The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise,
I barter for curl upon that mart.
