V
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The gray dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,
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And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
Thou wait beside me for thttps://read.99csw.comhe wind to blow
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
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It might be well perhaps. But if instead
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I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
As once Electra her sepulchral urn,
Cread.99csw•comould tread them out to darkness utterly,
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see
Through the ashen grayness. If thy foot in scorn