Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861)

(Affectionately inscribed to Elizabeth Jago)

EXPERIENCE, like a pale musician, holds

A dulcimer of patience in his hand;

Whence harmonies we cannot understand

Of God’s will in his worlds, the strain unfolds

In sad, perplexéd minors. Deathly colds

Fall on us while we hear, and countermand

Our sanguine heart back from the fancy-land,

With nightingales in visionary wolds.

We murmur, “Where is any certain tune,

Or measured music, in such notes as these?”

But angels, leaning from the golden seat,

Are not so minded! Their fine ear hath won

The issue of completed cadences;

And smiling down the stars, they whisper, “Sweet.”