Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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.

The essence of all beauty, I call love,
The attribute, the evidence, and end,
The consummation to read more

The essence of all beauty, I call love,
The attribute, the evidence, and end,
The consummation to the inward sense
Of beauty apprehended from without,
I still call love.

"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?"

The world goes whispering to its own,
"This anguish pierces to the bone;"
And tender friends go read more

The world goes whispering to its own,
"This anguish pierces to the bone;"
And tender friends go sighing round,
"What love can ever cure this wound?"
My days go on, my days go on.

Who so loves believes the impossible.

Who so loves believes the impossible.