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Poem by Elizabeth Barrett-Browning


The Prospect


METHINKS we do as fretful children do,	
Leaning their faces on the window-pane	
To sigh the glass dim with their own breaths stain,	
And shut the sky and landscape from their view;	
And thus, alas! since God the Maker drew
A mystic separation twixt those twain,	
The life beyond us, and our souls in pain,	
We miss the prospect which we are called unto,	
By grief we are fools to use. Be still and strong,	
O man, my brother, hold thy sobbing breath,
And keep thy souls large window pure from wrong,	
That so, as lifes appointment issueth,	
Thy vision may be clear to watch along	
The sunset consummation-lights of death.



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. 12. Indeed this very love which is my boast
  4. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 18. I never gave a lock of hair away
  5. A Year's Spinning


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Thomas Hardy The Prospect ("The twigs of the birch imprint the December sky") December 1912

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