Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet
    From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low
    Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so
    Who art not missed by any that entreat.
    Speak to mo as to Mary at thy feet!
    And if no precious gums my hands bestow,
    Let my tears drop like amber while I go
    In reach of thy divinest voice complete
    In humanest affection, thus, in sooth,
    To lose the sense of losing. As a child,
    Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore
    Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth
    Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled,
    He sleeps the faster that he wept before.


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Add Comfort to your library.

Return to the Elizabeth Barrett Browning library , or . . . Read the next poem; Consolation

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