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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=383898" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XVII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=383898" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes<br>God set between his After and Before,<br>And strike up and strike off the general roar<br>Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats<br>In a serene air purely. Antidotes<br>Of medicated music, answering for<br>Mankind's forlornest uses, thou canst pour<br>From thence into their ears. God's will devotes<br>Thine to such ends, and mine to wait on thine.<br>How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use ?<br>A hope, to sing by gladly ? or a fine<br>Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse ?<br>A shade, in which to sing--of palm or pine ?<br>A grave, on which to rest from singing ? Choose.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Barrett+Browning">Elizabeth Barrett Browning</a></strong></div>

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