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SONNET.

ROBERT BROWNING.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

OPOET, from some higher atmosphere

Than breathes who thro' this world's dim caverns toil

For basest is, and hope's white garments soil,

Subduing aspiration, lest the tear

Of anguish fall or sorrow's steps draw near, -

Removed from these and the heart-sick turmoil

That chokes faith in its blinding dust - with clear,

Strong voice, hand lightning-swift sin's thrusts to foil,

With subtle stroke of wit to strip the dress

From shame that tricks itself in holiness,

Firm judgment to dissever right and wrong,

Bounty of thought, imagination quaint,

Dauntless thou singest, Prince of modern song,

Loud thro' life's whirl, when other songs wax faint!

F.

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