How he sleepeth! having drunken
Weary childhood's mandragore,
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Prologue
I heard an angel speak last night,
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O Rose! who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;
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Love me Sweet, with all thou art,
Feeling, thinking, seeing;
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What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
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We walked beside the sea,
After a day which perished silently
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If God compel thee to this destiny,
To die alone, with none beside thy bed
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She has laughed as softly as if she sighed,
She has counted six, and over,
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He listened at the porch that day,
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NOW, by the verdure on thy thousand hills,
Beloved England, doth the earth appear
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IF all the gentlest-hearted friends I know
Concentred in one heart their gentleness,
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One eve it happened, when I sat alone,
Alone, upon the terrace of my tower,
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Aurora Leigh, be humble. Shall I hope
To speak my poems in mysterious tune
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They met still sooner. 'Twas a year from thence
That Lucy Gresham, the sick sempstress girl,
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Even thus. I pause to write it out at length,
The letter of the Lady Waldemar.
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Of writing many books there is no end;
And I who have written much in prose and verse
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"The woman's motive? shall we daub ourselves
With finding roots for nettles? 'tis soft clay
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The English have a scornful insular way
Of calling the French light. The levity
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"To-day thou girdest up thy loins thyself
And goest where thou wouldest: presently
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Times followed one another. Came a morn
I stood upon the brink of twenty years,
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The cypress stood up like a church
That night we felt our love would hold,
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Five months ago the stream did flow,
The lilies bloomed within the sedge,
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I THINK we are too ready with complaint
In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope
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HEARKEN, oh hearken! let your souls behind you
Turn, gently moved!
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SPEAK low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low
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All are not taken; there are left behind
Living Belovèds, tender looks to bring
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Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
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I
The face, which, duly as the sun,
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LIGHT human nature is too lightly tost
And ruffled without cause, complaining on--
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WE overstate the ills of life, and take
Imagination (given us to bring down
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