Now, by the verdure on thy thousand hills,
Beloved England, doth the earth appear
Quite good enough for men to overbear
The will of God in, with rebellious wills!
We cannot say the morning-sun fulfils
Ingloriously its course, nor that the clear
Strong stars without significance insphere
Our habitation: we, meantime, our ills
Heap up against this good and lift a cry
Against this work-day world, this ill-spread feast,
As if ourselves were better certainly
Than what we come to. Maker and High Priest,
I ask thee not my joys to multiply, -
Only to make me worthier of the least.
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• A Child Asleep
• A Dead Rose
• A Man's Requirements
• Musical Instrument
• A Sea-Side Walk
• A Thought For A Lonely Death-Bed
• Adequacy
• An Apprehension
• Change Upon Change
• Cheerfulness Taught By Reason
• Comfort
• Consolation
• De Profundis
• Discontent
• Exaggeration
• Futurity
• Grief
• How Do I Love Thee?
• Insufficiency
• Irreparableness
• Lord Walter's Wife
• Minstrelsy
• Pain In Pleasure
• Past And Future
• Patience Taught By Nature
• Perplexed Music
• Substitution
• Tears
• The Autumn
• The Best Thing In The World
• The Deserted Garden
• The House Of Clouds
• The Lady's Yes
• The Landing of Pilgrim Fathers
• The Look
• The Meaning Of The Look
• The Poet And The Bird
• The Prisoner
• The Seraph and Poet
• The Soul's Expression
• The Two Sayings
• The Weakest Thing
• To Flush, My Dog
• Work
• Work And Contemplation
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Elizabeth Barrett Browning Adequacy - Poem Lyrics - Elizabeth Barrett Browning - Adequacy
