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Sonnet 04 - Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor

 Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou lift this house's latch too poor For hand of thine? and canst thou think and bear To let thy music drop here unaware In folds of golden fulness at my door? Look up and see the casement broken in, The bats and owlets builders in the roof! My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof Of desolation! there 's a voice within That weeps .
as thou must sing .
alone, aloof

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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