Tears

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

　　

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Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not More grief than ye can weep for. That is well That is light grieving! lighter, none befell Since Adam forfeited the primal lot. Tears! what are tears? The babe weeps in its cot, The mother singing, at her marriage-bell The bride weeps, and before the oracle Of high-faned hills the poet has forgot Such moisture on his cheeks. Thank God for grace, Ye who weep only! If, as some have done, Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place And touch but tombs, look up I those tears will run Soon in long rivers down the lifted face, And leave the vision clear for stars and sun

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