Elizabeth Barrett Browning Quotes

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

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

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes read more

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

'Twas a yellow rose,
By that south window of the little house,
My cousin Romney gathered with read more

'Twas a yellow rose,
By that south window of the little house,
My cousin Romney gathered with his hand
On all my birthdays, for me. save the last;
And then I shook the tree too rough, too rough,
For roses to stay after.

And that dismal cry rose slowly
And sank slowly through the air,
Full of spirit's melancholy
read more

And that dismal cry rose slowly
And sank slowly through the air,
Full of spirit's melancholy
And eternity's despair!
And they heart the words it said--
Pan is dead! great Pan is dead!
Pan, Pan is dead!

Many a crown
Covers bald foreheads.

Many a crown
Covers bald foreheads.

Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward unto souls afar,
Along the Psalmist's music read more

Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward unto souls afar,
Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now tell me if that any is.
For gift or grace, surpassing this--
"He giveth His beloved sleep."

The place is all awave with trees,
Limes, myrtles, purple-beaded,
Acacias having drunk the lees
read more

The place is all awave with trees,
Limes, myrtles, purple-beaded,
Acacias having drunk the lees
Of the night-dew, fain headed,
And wan, grey olive-woods, which seem
The fittest foliage for a dream.

God's prophets of the Beautiful,
These Poets were.

God's prophets of the Beautiful,
These Poets were.

Don't stay in bed, unless you can make money in bed.

Don't stay in bed, unless you can make money in bed.

"There's nothing great
Nor small," has said a poet of our day,
Whose voice will ring beyond read more

"There's nothing great
Nor small," has said a poet of our day,
Whose voice will ring beyond the curfew of eve
And not be thrown out by the matin's bell.