De Profundis

It is a bit long, but I thought it was beautfiully written

De Profundis

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

I

The face, which, duly as the sun,
Rose up for me with life begun,
To mark all bright hours of the day
With hourly love, is dimmed away-
And yet my days go on, go on.

II

The tongue which, like a stream, could run
Smooth music from the roughest stone,
And every morning with 'Good day'
Make each day good, is hushed away,
And yet my days go on, go on.

III

The heart which, like a staff, was one
For mine to lean and rest upon,
The strongest on the longest day
With steadfast love, is caught away,
And yet my days go on, go on.

IV

And cold before my summer's done,
And deaf in Nature's general tune,
And fallen too low for special fear,
And here, with hope no longer here,
While the tears drop, my days go on.

V

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.

VI

The past rolls forward on the sun
And makes all night. O dreams begun,
Not to be ended! Ended bliss,
And life that will not end in this!
My days go on, my days go on.

VII

Breath freezes on my lips to moan:
As one alone, once not alone,
I sit and knock at Nature's door,
Heart-bare, heart-hungry, very poor,
Whose desolated days go on.

VIII

I knock and cry, - Undone, undone!
Is there no help, no comfort, - none?
No gleaning in the wide wheat plains
Where others drive their loaded wains?
My vacant days go on, go on.

IX

This Nature, though the snows be down,
Thinks kindly of the bird of June:
The little red hip on the tree
Is ripe for such. What is for me,
Whose days so winterly go on?

X

No bird am I, to sing in June,
And dare not ask an equal boon.
Good nests and berries red are Nature's
To give away to better creatures, -
And yet my days go on, go on.

XI

I ask less kindness to be done, -
Only to loose these pilgrim shoon,
(Too early worn and grimed) with sweet
Cool deadly touch to these tired feet.
Till days go out which now go on.

XII

Only to lift the turf unmown
From off the earth where it has grown,
Some cubit-space, and say 'Behold,
Creep in, poor Heart, beneath that fold,
Forgetting how the days go on.'

8:51 AM - 11/9/2007 - post comment

Quote of the Week: Wherever a man may happen to turn, whatever a man may undertake, he will always end up returning to that path which nature has marked out for him --Johann Wolfgang von Gothe

ShadowEyes
The Aristos
Poem Hunter
Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster
StopWhaling
NRDC BioGems
IFAW
Social Values Marketplace
Blogthings
Shadow Poetry
Seafood Choices Alliance
Look At Me
Stop The Seal Hunt
Holla Back
My Deviant Art
My Cafe Press Store
Bold, Beautiful, and Big
Internet Movie Database
Responsible Traveling
Ethical Traveling
Green Weddings
Eco-Friendly Sking and Snowboarding
Keep Winter Cool
Green Resorts
The Spiders Den
The Poetry Forum
The Literature Forum
Frederick W. Cook
Good Reads
Deconstruction of Kamikaze Kurt
The Mystics Dream
Timeless Visions



Recent Entries
- My Own Audience
- Elements
- Seasons
- Quote of the Week
- The Scarlet Satin




Catagory
- Articles
- Books
- Arcane
- Movies
- Music
- Philosophy
- Poetry
- Writing
- Thoughts
- Rants
- The Silvernary
- Word of the day
- Quote of the Week
- In Praise Of
- Art
- Confessional
- Garden and Animal Journal
- Roots
- Raw
- Humur
- Photography




Friends
- JournalHome
- troutdude
- DAWNIE
- kaymbl0403
- Heather
- silvermelusine
- Fightingfemale
- LandsdownLad
- dutchboy
- pykimconant
- inamorata
- Realove
- sweetlydisturbed
- imagination999
- SilverWynd
- lobond
- DarthTsynn
- YankeeInnkeeper
- StarrSilverMoon
- shokat99
- sweet2pinkash
- LadySilverMoon
- glorydreamer386
- 5489
- TheSeraphim
- enelda
- Zachtin
- visitor
- thecolumn





Visit www.hostdrjack.com




www.hostdrjack.com




Visit www.hostdrjack.com




Visit www.hostdrjack.com









Visit www.hostdrjack.com