Elizabeth Barrett Browning (Ýëèçàáåò Áàððåòò Áðàóíèíã)

Sonnet 3. Unlike Are We, Unlike, O Princely Heart!

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. 

1. Sonnet 15. Accuse Me Not, Beseech Thee, That I Wear
2. Sonnet 16. And Yet, Because Thou
3. Sonnet 32. The First Time
4. Grief
5. Sonnet 17. My Poet, Thou Canst Touch

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