XXI.

And I caught

At the flying robe, and unrepelled

Was lapped again in its folds full-fraught

With warmth and wonder and delight,

God’s mercy being infinite.

For scarce had the words escaped my tongue,

When, at a passionate bound, I sprung

Out of the wandering world of rain,

Into the little chapel again.

Pomegranates from an English Garden A selection from the poems of Robert Browning · 第 171 / 194 题