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Poem by Elizabeth Barrett-Browning


Insufficiency


When I attain to utter forth in verse
Some inward thought, my soul throbs audibly
Along my pulses, yearning to be free
And something farther, fuller, higher, rehearse
To the individual, true, and the universe,
In consummation of right harmony:
But, like a wind-exposed distorted tree,
We are blown against for ever by the curse
Which breathes through Nature. Oh, the world is weak !
The effluence of each is false to all,
And what we best conceive we fail to speak.
Wait, soul, until thine ashen garments fall,
And then resume thy broken strains, and seek
Fit peroration without let or thrall. 



Elizabeth Barrett-Browning


Elizabeth Barrett-Browning's other poems:
  1. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 20. Belovëd, my Belovëd, when I think
  2. Sonnets from the portuguese. 31. Thou comest! all is said without a word
  3. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 18. I never gave a lock of hair away
  4. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 12. Indeed this very love which is my boast
  5. A Year's Spinning


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