The Prisoner
A strange wild music to the prisoners ears,
Sounds on, behind this door so closely shut,
As strange to me as dreams of distant spheres
Grows dim with fancies which it feels too
Or thoughts of Heaven we weep at
藏书网. Natures lute
I count the dismal time by months and years
And the great breath of all things summer-
The Prisoner
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Streams, forests, glades, and many a golden tra九_九_藏_书_网in
Met mine upon my lips. Now earth appears
While ever, with a visionary pain,
Past the precluded senses, sweep and Rhinwww•99lib.nete
Of sunlit hills transfigured to Divine.
Since last I felt the green sward under foot,
Dilated by the distance, till the brain