Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead.
She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed,--
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Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead.
She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed,--
And both turned into flowers for the earth's garden-close;
Her tears, to the wind-flower,--his blood, to the rose.

Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low,
Lest read more

Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low,
Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so
Who art not missed by any that entreat.

And lilies are still lilies, pulled
By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.

And lilies are still lilies, pulled
By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.

The man, most man, works best for men: and, if most man indeed, he gets his manhood plainest from his read more

The man, most man, works best for men: and, if most man indeed, he gets his manhood plainest from his soul.

And friends, dear friends,--when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,
And gone read more

And friends, dear friends,--when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,
And gone my bier ye come to weep,
Let One, most loving of you all,
Say, "Not a tear must o'er her fall;
He giveth His beloved sleep."