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The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning
img img The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning img Chapter 496 No.496
496 Chapters
Chapter 1 CONTENTS.
Chapter 2 No.2
Chapter 3 No.3
Chapter 4 No.4
Chapter 5 No.5
Chapter 6 No.6
Chapter 7 No.7
Chapter 8 No.8
Chapter 9 No.9
Chapter 10 No.10
Chapter 11 No.11
Chapter 12 No.12
Chapter 13 No.13
Chapter 14 No.14
Chapter 15 No.15
Chapter 16 No.16
Chapter 17 No.17
Chapter 18 No.18
Chapter 19 No.19
Chapter 20 No.20
Chapter 21 No.21
Chapter 22 No.22
Chapter 23 No.23
Chapter 24 No.24
Chapter 25 No.25
Chapter 26 No.26
Chapter 27 No.27
Chapter 28 No.28
Chapter 29 No.29
Chapter 30 No.30
Chapter 31 No.31
Chapter 32 No.32
Chapter 33 No.33
Chapter 34 No.34
Chapter 35 No.35
Chapter 36 No.36
Chapter 37 No.37
Chapter 38 No.38
Chapter 39 No.39
Chapter 40 No.40
Chapter 41 No.41
Chapter 42 No.42
Chapter 43 No.43
Chapter 44 No.44
Chapter 45 No.45
Chapter 46 No.46
Chapter 47 No.47
Chapter 48 No.48
Chapter 49 No.49
Chapter 50 No.50
Chapter 51 No.51
Chapter 52 No.52
Chapter 53 No.53
Chapter 54 No.54
Chapter 55 No.55
Chapter 56 No.56
Chapter 57 No.57
Chapter 58 No.58
Chapter 59 No.59
Chapter 60 No.60
Chapter 61 No.61
Chapter 62 No.62
Chapter 63 No.63
Chapter 64 No.64
Chapter 65 No.65
Chapter 66 No.66
Chapter 67 No.67
Chapter 68 No.68
Chapter 69 No.69
Chapter 70 No.70
Chapter 71 No.71
Chapter 72 No.72
Chapter 73 No.73
Chapter 74 No.74
Chapter 75 No.75
Chapter 76 No.76
Chapter 77 No.77
Chapter 78 No.78
Chapter 79 No.79
Chapter 80 No.80
Chapter 81 No.81
Chapter 82 No.82
Chapter 83 No.83
Chapter 84 No.84
Chapter 85 No.85
Chapter 86 No.86
Chapter 87 No.87
Chapter 88 No.88
Chapter 89 No.89
Chapter 90 No.90
Chapter 91 No.91
Chapter 92 No.92
Chapter 93 No.93
Chapter 94 No.94
Chapter 95 No.95
Chapter 96 No.96
Chapter 97 No.97
Chapter 98 No.98
Chapter 99 No.99
Chapter 100 No.100
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Chapter 496 No.496

The Earth is old;

Six thousand winters make her heart a-cold;

The sceptre slanteth from her palsied hold.

She saith, "'Las me! God's word that I was 'good'

Is taken back to heaven,

From whence when any sound comes, I am riven

By some sharp bolt; and now no angel would

Descend with sweet dew-silence on my mountains,

To glorif

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