Robert Browning, The Poetical Works of Robert Browning (London: Smith, Elder, & Co., 1888), 6: 47.
1Nay but you, who do not love her,
2 Is she not pure gold, my mistress?
3Holds earth aught --- speak truth --- above her?
4 Aught like this tress, see, and this tress,
5And this last fairest tress of all,
6So fair, see, ere I let it fall?
7Because, you spend your lives in praising;
8 To praise, you search the wide world over:
9Then why not witness, calmly gazing,
10 If earth holds aught --- speak truth --- above her?
11Above this tress, and this, I touch
12But cannot praise, I love so much!
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Marc R. Plamondon