Elizabeth Barrett Browning

The man, most man, works best for men: and, if most man indeed, he gets his manhood plainest from his read more

The man, most man, works best for men: and, if most man indeed, he gets his manhood plainest from his soul.

The music soars within the little lark,
And the lark soars.

The music soars within the little lark,
And the lark soars.

Books, books, books!
I had found the secret of a garret room
Piled high with cases in read more

Books, books, books!
I had found the secret of a garret room
Piled high with cases in my father's name;
Piled high, packed large,--where, creeping in and out
Among the giant fossils of my past,
Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs
Of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there
At this or that box, pulling through the gap,
In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy,
The first book first. And how I felt it beat
Under my pillow, in the morning's dark,
An hour before the sun would let me read!
My books!
At last, because the time was ripe,
I chanced upon the poets.

Beautiful.
(in reply to her husband who had asked how she felt moments before her death.).

Beautiful.
(in reply to her husband who had asked how she felt moments before her death.).

Sleep on, Baby, on the floor,
Tired of all the playing,
Sleep with smile the sweeter for
read more

Sleep on, Baby, on the floor,
Tired of all the playing,
Sleep with smile the sweeter for
That you dropped away in!
On your curls' full roundness stand
Golden lights serenely--
One cheek, pushed out by the hand,
Folds the dimple inly.