Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Who so loves believes the impossible.

Who so loves believes the impossible.

You smell a rose through a fence:
If two should smell it, what matter?

You smell a rose through a fence:
If two should smell it, what matter?

"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.

Hope, he called, belief
In God,--work, worship . . . therefore let us pray!

Hope, he called, belief
In God,--work, worship . . . therefore let us pray!

And that dismal cry rose slowly
And sank slowly through the air,
Full of spirit's melancholy
read more

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!