Poetry of Barrett Browning
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
born 1806, died 1861
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From "The Cry Of The Children"
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, -
And t h a t cannot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows;
The young birds are chirping in the nest;
The young fawns are playing with the shadows;
The young flowers are blowing toward the west -
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly! -
They are weeping in the playtime to the others,
In the country of the free.
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"For oh," say the children "we are weary,
And we cannot run or leap -
If we cared for any meadows, it were merely
To drop down in them and sleep.
Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping -
We fall upon our faces, trying to go;
And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping,
The reddest flower would look as pale as snow.
For, all day, we drag our burden tiring,
Through the coal-dark, underground -
Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron
In the factories, round and round.
"For, all day, the wheels are droning, turning, -
Their wind comes in our faces, -
Till our hearts turn, - our heads, with pulses burning, -
And the walls turn in their places -
Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling -
Turns the long light that droppeth down the wall -
Turn the black flies taht crawl along the ceiling -
All are turning, all the day, and we with all. -
And, all day, the iron wheels are droning;
And sometimes we could pray,
"O ye wheels," (breaking out in a mad moaning)
"Stop! be silent for to-day!"" -
Ay! be silent! Let them hear each other breathing
For a moment, mouth to mouth -
Let them touch each other's hands, in a fresh wreathing
Of their tender human youth!
Let them feel that this cold metallic motion
Is not all the life God fashions or reveals -
Let them prove their inward souls against the notion
That they live in you, or under you, O wheels! -
Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward,
Grinding life down from its mark;
And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward,
Spin on blindly in the dark.
>> Elizabeth Barrett Browning |
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