Sonnets From the Portuguese #3 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

We are continuing our series of poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

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Sonnets From The Portuguese #3

Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
Our ministering two angels look surprise
On one another, as they strike athwart

Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art
A guest for queens to social pageantries,
With gages from a hundred brighter eyes
Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part Of chief musician.

What hast thou to do
With looking from the lattice-lights at me,
A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through
The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree?

The chrism is on thine head,—on mine, the dew,—
And Death must dig the level where these agree.

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