Robert Browning

Oh, to be in England,
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
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Oh, to be in England,
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf,
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England--now.

And I have written three books on the soul,
Proving absurd all written hitherto,
And putting us read more

And I have written three books on the soul,
Proving absurd all written hitherto,
And putting us to ignorance again.

Oh, the little more, and how much it is!
And the little less, and what worlds away.

Oh, the little more, and how much it is!
And the little less, and what worlds away.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves,
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves,
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

There shall never be one lost good! What was shall live as
before;
The evil is null, is read more

There shall never be one lost good! What was shall live as
before;
The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound;
What was good shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more;
On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven a perfect round.