Poem Hunter
(6 March 1806 – 29 June 1861 / Durham / England)


Poem By Elizabeth Barrett Browning

NOW, by the verdure on thy thousand hills,
Beloved England, doth the earth appear
Quite good enough for men to overbear
The will of God in, with rebellious wills !
We cannot say the morning-sun fulfils
Ingloriously its course, nor that the clear
Strong stars without significance insphere
Our habitation: we, meantime, our ills
Heap up against this good and lift a cry
Against this work-day world, this ill-spread feast,
As if ourselves were better certainly
Than what we come to. Maker and High Priest,
I ask thee not my joys to multiply,--
Only to make me worthier of the least.

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Comments (8)

I ask thee not my joys to multiply, - Only to make me worthier of the least. Beautiful and profound write. Thanks for sharing it here.
Although the world is suffering from the heat of economic break down, yet there are some things left to gladen one's heart in the country. I love this literary piece.
i ask thee not my joys to multiply- only to make me worthier of the least..beautiful thoughts with a great meaning
This is a fabulous sonnet, forcefully composed. I wonder what ills of man has inspired this. Because reading this today, with the ills being many, I can read any number of meanings in this poem.
Beloved England! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.