Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet 08 – What can I give thee back, O liberal
What can I give thee back, O liberal And princely giver, who hast brought the gold And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold, And laid them on the outside of the-wall For such as
On A Portrait Of Wordsworth
WORDSWORTH upon Helvellyn! Let the cloud Ebb audibly along the mountain-wind, Then break against the rock, and show behind The lowland valleys floating up to crowd The sense with beauty. He with forehead bowed
Minstrelsy
For ever, since my childish looks Could rest on Nature’s pictured books; For ever, since my childish tongue Could name the themes our bards have sung; So long, the sweetness of their singing Hath
Sonnet 24 – Let the world's sharpness, like a clasping knife
Let the world’s sharpness, like a clasping knife, Shut in upon itself and do no harm In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm, And let us hear no sound of human
Sonnet 16 – And yet, because thou overcomest so
And yet, because thou overcomest so, Because thou art more noble and like a king, Thou canst prevail against my fears and fling Thy purple round me, till my heart shall grow Too close
An Apprehension
IF all the gentlest-hearted friends I know Concentred in one heart their gentleness, That still grew gentler till its pulse was less For life than pity, I should yet be slow To bring my
Sonnet 42 – 'My future will not copy fair my past'
‘My future will not copy fair my past’- I wrote that once; and thinking at my side My ministering life-angel justified The word by his appealing look upcast To the white throne of God,
The Poet And The Bird
Said a people to a poet -” Go out from among us straightway! While we are thinking earthly things, thou singest of divine. There’s a little fair brown nightingale, who, sitting in the gateways
Grief
I tell you hopeless grief is passionless, That only men incredulous of despair, Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness
Cheerfulness Taught By Reason
I THINK we are too ready with complaint In this fair world of God’s. Had we no hope Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope Of yon gray blank of sky, we might grow
To George Sand: A Recognition
TRUE genius, but true woman! dost deny The woman’s nature with a manly scorn And break away the gauds and armlets worn By weaker women in captivity? Ah, vain denial! that revolted cry Is
Past And Future
MY future will not copy fair my past On any leaf but Heaven’s. Be fully done Supernal Will! I would not fain be one Who, satisfying thirst and breaking fast, Upon the fulness of
Exaggeration
WE overstate the ills of life, and take Imagination (given us to bring down The choirs of singing angels overshone By God’s clear glory) down our earth to rake The dismal snows instead, flake
Sonnet 41 – I thank all who have loved me in their hearts
XLI I thank all who have loved me in their hearts, With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all Who paused a little near the prison-wall To hear my music in its
Tears
THANK God, bless God, all ye who suffer not More grief than ye can weep for. That is well That is light grieving! lighter, none befell Since Adam forfeited the primal lot. Tears! what