Elizabeth Barrett Browning

"There's nothing great
Nor small," has said a poet of our day,
Whose voice will ring beyond read more

"There's nothing great
Nor small," has said a poet of our day,
Whose voice will ring beyond the curfew of eve
And not be thrown out by the matin's bell.

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!

Thank God for grace,
Ye who weep only! If, as some have done,
Ye grope tear-blinded in read more

Thank God for grace,
Ye who weep only! If, as some have done,
Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place
And touch but tombs,--look up! Those tears will run
Soon in long rivers down the lifted face,
And leave the vision clear for stars and sun.

I was betrothed that day;
I wore a troth kiss on my lips I could not give away.

I was betrothed that day;
I wore a troth kiss on my lips I could not give away.

Knowledge by suffering entereth,
And life is perfected by Death.

Knowledge by suffering entereth,
And life is perfected by Death.