Sonnets - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

A lofty Type of all her sex, I ween, My English brothers, though your wayward race Now slight the Soul that never wore a screen, And loved too well to keep her noble place! Ah, bravest Woman that our World hath seen (A light in spaces wild and tempest-tost), In every verse of thine, behold, we trace The full reflection of an earnest face And hear the scrawling of an eager pen! O sisters! knowing what you've loved and lost, I ask where shall we find its like, and when? That dear heart with its passion sorrow-crost, And pathos rippling, like a brook in June Amongst the roses of a windless noon.