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 ply 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 of thine head , --
On mine , the dew , -- and Death
Must dig the level where these agree .

" Sonnets From The Portuguese III "
--- Elizabeth Barrett Browning
( 1806 - 1861 )