Page:Prometheus bound - Browning (1833).djvu/172

 Ay! Nature loveth not to bring Crown'd victims to life's labouring. The mirth-effulgent eye appears Less sparkling—to make room for tears: After the heart's quick throbs depart, We lose the gladness of the heart: And, after we have lost awhile The rose o' the lip, we lose its smile; As Beauty could not bear to press Near the death-pyre of Happiness.

This seemeth but a sombre dream? It hath more pleasant thoughts than seem. The older a young tree doth grow, The deeper shade it sheds below; But makes the grass more green—the air More fresh, than had the sun been there. And thus our human life is found, Albeit a darkness gather round: