Elizabeth Barrett Browning

The music soars within the little lark,
And the lark soars.

The music soars within the little lark,
And the lark soars.

Let no one till his death be called unhappy. Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor read more

Let no one till his death be called unhappy. Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor done.

And thus, what can we do,
Poor rose and poet too,
Who both antedate our mission
read more

And thus, what can we do,
Poor rose and poet too,
Who both antedate our mission
In an unprepared season?

Don't stay in bed, unless you can make money in bed.

Don't stay in bed, unless you can make money in bed.

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.