Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browning
(Prologue to "The Two Poets of Croisic.")
Such a starved bank of moss
Till, that May-morn,
Blue ran the flash across:
Violets were born!
Sky—what a scowl of cloud
Till, near and far,
Ray on ray split the shroud:
Splendid, a star!
World—how it walled about
Life with disgrace,
Till God's own smile came out:
That was thy face!