There Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb The crowns o’ the world; oh, eyes sublime With tears and laughter for all time! - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Here's ivy! — take them, as I used to do Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true, And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine.

I cannot speak In happy tones; the tear drops on my cheek Show I am sad;
But I can speak Of grace to suffer with submission meek,
Until made glad.
I cannot feel
That all is well, when dark'ning clouds conceal
The shining sun;
But then I know
God lives and loves; and say, since it is so, "Thy will be done."

The soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne, — And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.