A Lofty Type Of All Her Sex, I Ween, My English Brothers, Though Your Wayward Race Now Slight The Soul That Never Wore A Screen, And Loved Too Well To Keep Her Noble Place! Ah, Bravest Woman That Our World Hath Seen (A Light In Spaces Wild And Tempest-Tost), In Every Verse Of Thine, Behold, We Trace The Full Reflection Of An Earnest Face And Hear The Scrawling Of An Eager Pen! O Sisters! Knowing What You've Loved And Lost, I Ask Where Shall We Find Its Like, And When? That Dear Heart With Its Passion Sorrow-Crost, And Pathos Rippling, Like A Brook In June Amongst The Roses Of A Windless Noon.