Saturday, July 14, 2012

Robert Browning (1812-1889)


(_Prologue to "The Two Poets of Croisic."_)

Such a starved bank of moss
Till, that May-morn,
Blue ran the flash across:
Violets were born!

Sky--what a scowl of cloud
Till, near and far,
Ray on ray split the shroud:
Splendid, a star!

World--how it walled about
Life with disgrace, 10
Till God's own smile came out:
That was thy face!

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