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Elizabeth Barrett Browning - Sonnet III: Unlike Are We, UnlikeElizabeth Barrett Browning - Sonnet III: Unlike Are We, Unlike
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Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart! Unlike our uses and our destinies. Our ministering two angels look surprise On one another, as they strike athwart Their wings in passing.  Thou, bethink thee, art A guest for queens to social pageantries, With gages from a hundred brighter eyes Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part Of chief musician.  What hast thou to do With looking from the lattice-lights at me, A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree? The chrism is on thine head,—on mine, the dew— And Death must dig the level where these agree.
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