Tears

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

    Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
    More grief than ye can weep for. That is well
    That is light grieving! lighter, none befell
    Since Adam forfeited the primal lot.
    Tears! what are tears? The babe weeps in its cot,
    The mother singing, at her marriage-bell
    The bride weeps, and before the oracle
    Of high-faned hills the poet has forgot
    Such moisture on his cheeks. Thank God for grace,
    Ye who weep only! If, as some have done,
    Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place
    And touch but tombs, look up I those tears will run
    Soon in long rivers down the lifted face,
    And leave the vision clear for stars and sun