Poem by Elizabeth Barrett-Browning

Comfort

SPEAK low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low
Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so
Who art not missed by any that entreat.
Speak to mo as to Mary at thy feet !
And if no precious gums my hands bestow,
Let my tears drop like amber while I go
In reach of thy divinest voice complete
In humanest affection -- thus, in sooth,
To lose the sense of losing. As a child,
Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore
Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth
Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled,
He sleeps the faster that he wept before. 

1. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 40. Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!
2. A Thought for a Lonely Death-Bed
3. The Poet and the Bird
4. Only a Curl
5. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 22. When our two souls stand up erect and strong

Robert Service Comfort ("Say! You've struck a heap of trouble")

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