FOUR SONNETS BY ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. TWO SKETCHES. I. The shadow of her face upon the wall May take your memory to the perfect Greek; But when you front her, you would call the cheek Too full, sir, for your models, if withal That bloom it wears could leave you critical, And that smile reaching toward the rosy streak:-- For one who smiles so, has no need to speak, To lead your thoughts along, as steed to stall! A smile that turns the sunny side o' the heart On all the world, as if herself did win By what she lavished on an open mart:-- Let no man call the liberal sweetness, sin,-- While friends may whisper, as they stand apart, "Methinks there's still some warmer place within." II. Her azure eyes, dark lashes hold in fee: Her fair superfluous ringlets, without check, Drop after one another down her neck; As many to each cheek as you might see Green leaves to a wild rose! This sign, outwardly, And a like woman-covering seems to deck Her inner nature! For she will not fleck World's sunshine with a finger. Sympathy Must call her in Love's name! and then, I know, She rises up, and brightens, as she should, And lights her smile for comfort, and is slow In nothing of high-hearted fortitude. To smell this flower, come near it; such can grow In that sole garden where Christ's brow dropped blood. MOUNTAINEER AND POET. The simple goatherd who treads places high, Beholding there his shadow (it is wist) Dilated to a giant's on the mist, Esteems not his own stature larger by The apparent image; but more patiently Strikes his staff down beneath his clenching fist-- While the snow-mountains lift their amethyst And sapphire crowns of splendour, far and nigh, Into the air around him. Learn from hence Meek morals, all ye poets that pursue Your way still onward up to eminence! Ye are not great, because creation drew Large revelations round your earliest sense, Nor bright, because God's glory shines for you. THE POET. The poet hath the child's sight in his breast, And sees all new . What oftenest he has viewed, He views with the first glory. Fair and good Pall never on him, at the fairest, best, But stand before him, holy, and undressed In week-day false conventions; such as would Drag other men down from the altitude Of primal types, too early dispossessed. Why, God would tire of all his heavens as soon As thou, O childlike, godlike poet! did'st Of daily and nightly sights of sun and moon! And therefore hath He set thee in the midst Where men may hear thy wonder's ceaseless tune, And praise His world for ever as thou bidst.