Elizabeth browning poems children

Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
            Ere the sorrow comes with years?
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers---
            And that cannot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows;
    The young birds are chirping in the nest;
The young fawns are playing with the shadows;
    The young flowers are blowing toward the west---
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
            They are weeping bitterly!---
They are weeping in the playtime of the others
            In the country of the free.

Do you question the young children in the sorrow,
       &nb