Sonnet 04 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou lift this house’s latch too poor
For hand of thine? and canst thou think and bear
To let thy music drop here unaware
In folds of golden fulness at my door?
Look up and see the casement broken in,
The bats and owlets builders in the roof!
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof
Of desolation! there’s a voice within
That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof.

That concludes Sonnet 04 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Did you enjoy Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnet 04? Then, rate it below. And don’t forget to like, tweet or share Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnet 04 by using the Facebook and Twitter buttons below.

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