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Sonnet III: Unlike Are We
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Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart! Unlike our uses and our destinies Our ministering two angels look surprise On one another, as they strike athwart Their wings in pa**ing. Thou, bethink thee, art A guest for queens to social pageantries With gages from a hundred brighter eyes Than tears [even]1 can make mine, to ply thy part Of chief musician. What hast thou to do With looking from the lattice-lights at me A poor, tired, wandering singer, … singing through The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree? The chrism is on thine head, — on mine, the dew, — And Death must dig the level where these agree
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