Elizabeth Barrett Browning

He, in his developed manhood, stood, a little sunburn by the glare of life.

He, in his developed manhood, stood, a little sunburn by the glare of life.

And thus, what can we do,
Poor rose and poet too,
Who both antedate our mission
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And thus, what can we do,
Poor rose and poet too,
Who both antedate our mission
In an unprepared season?

Deep violets, you liken to
The kindest eyes that look on you,
Without a thought disloyal.

Deep violets, you liken to
The kindest eyes that look on you,
Without a thought disloyal.

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.

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.