An Apprehension

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

    If all the gentlest-hearted friends I know
    Concentred in one heart their gentleness,
    That still grew gentler till its pulse was less
    For life than pity, I should yet be slow
    To bring my own heart nakedly below
    The palm of such a friend, that he should press
    Motive, condition, means, appliances,

    My false ideal joy and fickle woe,
    Out full to light and knowledge; I should fear
    Some plait between the brows, some rougher chime
    In the free voice. O angels, let your flood
    Of bitter scorn dash on me! do ye hear
    What I say who hear calmly all the time
    This everlasting face to face with God?