My future will not copy fair my past On any leaf but Heaven's. Be fully done, Supernal Will! I would not fain be one Who, satisfying thirst and breaking fast Upon the fulness of the heart, at last Saith no grace after meat. My wine hath run Indeed out of my cup, and there is none To gather up the bread of my repast Scattered and trampled! Yet I find some good In earth's green herbs, and streams that bubble up Clear from the darkling ground, content until I sit with angels before better food. Dear Christ! when thy new vintage fills my cup, This hand shall shake no more, nor that wine spill.
Return to the Elizabeth Barrett Browning library , or . . . Read the next poem; Patience Taught By Nature