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And that dismal cry rose slowly And sank slowly through the air, Full of spirit's melancholy And eternity's despair And they heard the words it said,- Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead!
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
Full
Melancholy
Heard
Slowly
Words
Despair
Spirit
Rose
Great
Cry
Eternity
Air
Dismal
Dead
Sank
More quotes by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
There, that is our secret: go to sleep! You will wake, and remember, and understand.
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The beautiful seems right by force of beauty and the feeble wrong because of weakness.
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We overstate the ills of life, and take Imagination... down our earth to rake.
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Get work, get work Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get.
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Love me sweet With all thou art Feeling, thinking, seeing Love me in the Lightest part, Love me in full Being.
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The plague of gold strikes far and near.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
truth outlives pain, as the soul does life.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Oh, a day in the city-square, there is no such pleasure in life!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Greeks said grandly in their tragic phrase, 'Let no one be called happy till his death' to which I would add, 'Let no one, till his death, be called unhappy.'
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Eyes of gentianellas azure, Staring, winking at the skies.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Deep violets, you liken to The kindest eyes that look on you, Without a thought disloyal.
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I love you for the part of me that you bring out.
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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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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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Too much beauty, I reckon, is nothing but too much sun.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Wall must get the weather stain Before they grow the ivy.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers?
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The least flower, with brimming cup, may stand and share its dew drop with another near.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Nosegays! leave them for the waking, Throw them earthward where they grew Dim are such, beside the breaking Amaranths he looks unto. Folded eyes see brighter colors than the open ever do.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
