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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=383806" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Only a Curl.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br> FRIENDS of faces unknown and a land<br> Unvisited over the sea, <br> Who tell me how lonely you stand<br> With a single gold curl in the hand<br> Held up to be looked at by me, --</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II.<br> While you ask me to ponder and say<br> What a father and mother can do, <br> With the bright fellow-locks put away<br> Out of reach, beyond kiss, in the clay<br> Where the violets press nearer than you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III.<br>Shall I speak like a poet, or run<br> Into weak woman's tears for relief ? <br>Oh, children ! -- I never lost one, --<br>Yet my arm 's round my own little son, <br> And Love knows the secret of Grief. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IV.<br>And I feel what it must be and is, <br> When God draws a new angel so<br>Through the house of a man up to His, <br>With a murmur of music, you miss, <br> And a rapture of light, you forgo. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>V.<br>How you think, staring on at the door, <br> Where the face of your angel flashed in, <br>That its brightness, familiar before, <br>Burns off from you ever the more<br> For the dark of your sorrow and sin. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VI.<br>`God lent him and takes him,' you sigh ; <br> -- Nay, there let me break with your pain : <br>God 's generous in giving, say I, --<br>And the thing which He gives, I deny<br> That He ever can take back again. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VII.<br>He gives what He gives. I appeal<br> To all who bear babes -- in the hour<br>When the veil of the body we feel<br>Rent round us, -- while torments reveal<br> The motherhood's advent in power, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VIII.<br>And the babe cries ! -- has each of us known<br> By apocalypse (God being there<br>Full in nature) the child is our own, <br>Life of life, love of love, moan of moan, <br> Through all changes, all times, everywhere. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IX.<br>He 's ours and for ever. Believe, <br> O father ! -- O mother, look back<br>To the first love's assurance. To give<br>Means with God not to tempt or deceive<br> With a cup thrust in Benjamin's sack. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>X.<br>He gives what He gives. Be content ! <br> He resumes nothing given, -- be sure ! <br>God lend ? Where the usurers lent<br>In His temple, indignant He went<br> And scourged away all those impure. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XI.<br>He lends not ; but gives to the end, <br> As He loves to the end. If it seem<br>That He draws back a gift, comprehend<br>'Tis to add to it rather, -- amend, <br> And finish it up to your dream, --</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XII.<br>Or keep, -- as a mother will toys<br> Too costly, though given by herself, <br>Till the room shall be stiller from noise, <br>And the children more fit for such joys, <br> Kept over their heads on the shelf. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XIII.<br>So look up, friends ! you, who indeed<br> Have possessed in your house a sweet piece<br>Of the Heaven which men strive for, must need<br>Be more earnest than others are,--speed<br> Where they loiter, persist where they cease. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XIV.<br>You know how one angel smiles there. <br> Then weep not. 'Tis easy for you<br>To be drawn by a single gold hair<br>Of that curl, from earth's storm and despair, <br> To the safe place above us. Adieu.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Barrett+Browning">Elizabeth Barrett Browning</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=383806" data-title="Only a Curl. de Elizabeth Barrett Browning" data-description="I.
 FRIENDS of faces unknown and a land
 Unvisited over the sea, 
 Who tell me how lonely you stand
 With a single gold curl in the hand
 Held up to be looked at by me, --


II.
 While you ask me to ponder and say
 What a father and mother can do,..."></div>
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