Elizabeth Barrett Browning Quotes

Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive,
Half wishing they were dead to save the shame.
The read more

Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive,
Half wishing they were dead to save the shame.
The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow;
They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats,
And flare up bodily, wings and all.

I wish I were the lily's leaf
To fade upon that bosom warm,
Content to wither, pale read more

I wish I were the lily's leaf
To fade upon that bosom warm,
Content to wither, pale and brief,
The trophy of thy paler form.

Thank God for grace,
Ye who weep only! If, as some have done,
Ye grope tear-blinded in read more

Thank God for grace,
Ye who weep only! If, as some have done,
Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place
And touch but tombs,--look up! Those tears will run
Soon in long rivers down the lifted face,
And leave the vision clear for stars and sun.

O, brothers! let us leave the shame and sin
Of taking vainly in a plaintive mood,
The read more

O, brothers! let us leave the shame and sin
Of taking vainly in a plaintive mood,
The holy name of Grief--holy herein,
That, by the grief of One, came all our good.

And a breastplate made of daisies,
Closely fitting, leaf on leaf,
Periwinkles interlaced
Drawn read more

And a breastplate made of daisies,
Closely fitting, leaf on leaf,
Periwinkles interlaced
Drawn for belt about the waist;
While the brown bees, humming praises,
Shot their arrows round the chief.

Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well--
read more

Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well--
That is light grieving!

For poets (bear the word)
Half-poets even, are still whole democrats.

For poets (bear the word)
Half-poets even, are still whole democrats.

Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
read more

Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer;
Growing straight out of man's reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.

"There is no God," the foolish saith, But none, "There is no sorrow." And nature oft the cry of read more

"There is no God," the foolish saith, But none, "There is no sorrow." And nature oft the cry of faith In bitter need will borrow: Eyes which the preacher could not school, By wayside graves are raised; And lips say, "God be pitiful," Who ne'er said, "God be praised.".

How he sleepeth! having drunken
Weary childhood's mandragore,
From his pretty eyes have sunken
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How he sleepeth! having drunken
Weary childhood's mandragore,
From his pretty eyes have sunken
Pleasures to make room for more--
Sleeping near the withered nosegay which he pulled the day
before.