Quote

Who can fear Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll- Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year? Say thou dost love me, love me, love me-toll The silver iterance!-only minding, Dear, To love me also in silence, with thy soul.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Age: 55 †
Born: 1806
Born: March 6
Died: 1861
Died: June 30
Essayist
Pamphleteer
Poet
Screenwriter
Translator
Durham
England
Mrs. Browning
Elizabeth Barrett Barrett
Elizabeth Barrett-Browning
Elizaveta Barrett Brauning
Also
Flower
Tolls
Soul
Silence
Crown
Many
Shall
Crowns
Years
Stars
Silver
Love
Year
Roll
Life
Though
Flowers
Minding
Heaven
Thou
Dost
Fear
Dear
Toll

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The man, most man, works best for men: and, if most man indeed, he gets his manhood plainest from his soul.
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Light tomorrow with today!
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I cannot speak In happy tones the tear drops on my cheek Show I am sad But I can speak Of grace to suffer with submission meek, Until made glad.
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Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished.
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Books are men of higher stature, and the only men that speak aloud for future times to hear.
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If we tried To sink the past beneath our feet, be sure The future would not stand.
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Women know the way to rear up children (to be just). They know a simple, merry, tender knack of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes, and stringing pretty words that make no sense. And kissing full sense into empty words.
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When God helps all the workers for His world, The singers shall have help of Him, not last.
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The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise, I barter for curl upon that mart.
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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.
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Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, A creature might forget to weep, who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love, thereby! But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.
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Purple lilies Dante blew To a larger bubble with his prophet breath.
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Free men freely work: Whoever fears God, fears to sit at ease.
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Behold me! I am worthy Of thy loving, for I love thee!
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And there my little doves did sit With feathers softly brown And glittering eyes that showed their right To general Nature's deep delight.
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Or from Browning some Pomegranate, which if cut deep down the middle Shows a heart within blood-tinctured, of a veined humanity.
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There, that is our secret: go to sleep! You will wake, and remember, and understand.
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A good neighbor sometimes cuts your morning up to mince-meat of the very smallest talk, then helps to sugar her bohea at night with your reputation.
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I love you for the part of me that you bring out.
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Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead!
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