III <br /> <br />Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart! <br />Unlike our uses and our destinies. <br />Our ministering two angels look surprise <br />On one another, as they strike athwart <br />Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art <br />A guest for queens to social pageantries, <br />With gages from a hundred brighter eyes <br />Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part <br />Of chief musician. What hast thou to do <br />With looking from the lattice-lights at me, <br />A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through <br />The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree? <br />The chrism is on thine head,—on mine, the dew,— <br />And Death must dig the level where these agree.<br /><br />Elizabeth Barrett Browning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-03-unlike-are-we-unlike-o-princely-heart/
