Elizabeth Barrett Browning Quotes

And lilies white, prepared to touch
The whitest thought, nor soil it much,
Of dreamer turned to read more

And lilies white, prepared to touch
The whitest thought, nor soil it much,
Of dreamer turned to lover.

Yet half the beast is the great god Pan,
To laugh, as he sits by the river,
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Yet half the beast is the great god Pan,
To laugh, as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man.
The true gods sigh for the cost and the pain--
For the reed that grows never more again
As a reed with the reeds of the river.

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.

Pray, pray, thou who also weepest,--
And the drops will slacken so;
Weep, weep--and the watch thou read more

Pray, pray, thou who also weepest,--
And the drops will slacken so;
Weep, weep--and the watch thou keepest,
With a quicker count will go.
Think,--the shadow on the dial
For the nature most undone,
Marks the passing of the trial,
Proves the presence of the sun.

There, Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb
The crowns o' the world. Oh, eyes sublime
With tears and read more

There, Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb
The crowns o' the world. Oh, eyes sublime
With tears and laughter for all time.

Men get opinions as boys learn to spell, By reiteration chiefly.

Men get opinions as boys learn to spell, By reiteration chiefly.

And there my little doves did sit
With feathers softly brown
And glittering eyes that showed their read more

And there my little doves did sit
With feathers softly brown
And glittering eyes that showed their right
To general Nature's deep delight.

That headlong ivy! not a leaf will grow
But thinking of a wreath, . . .
I read more

That headlong ivy! not a leaf will grow
But thinking of a wreath, . . .
I like such ivy; bold to leap a height
'Twas strong to climb! as good to grow on graves
As twist about a thyrsus; pretty too
(And that's not ill) when twisted round a comb.

You smell a rose through a fence:
If two should smell it, what matter?

You smell a rose through a fence:
If two should smell it, what matter?

First time he kiss'd me, he but only kiss'd
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
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First time he kiss'd me, he but only kiss'd
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever since it grew more clean and white.