by Robert Browning (1812 - 1889)

Such a starved bank of moss
Language: English 
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! 

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2010-04-24
Line count: 12
Word count: 54