On the Death of Mrs. Browning

WHICH of the Angels sang so well in Heaven  
That the approving Archon of the quire  
Cried, “Come up hither!” and he, going higher,  
Carried a note out of the choral seven;  
Whereat that cherub to whom choice is given  
Among the singers that on earth aspire  
Beckon’d thee from us, and thou, and thy lyre  
Sudden ascended out of sight? Yet even  
In Heaven thou weepest! Well, true wife, to weep!  
Thy voice doth so betray that sweet offence
That no new call should more exalt thee hence  
But for thy harp. Ah, lend it, and such grace  
Shall still advance thy neighbor that thou keep  
Thy seat, and at thy side a vacant place!