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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.

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
Middle
Veined
Within
Pomegranate
Shows
Pomegranates
Heart
Browning
Cutting
Deep
Blood
Humanity

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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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Free men freely work: Whoever fears God, fears to sit at ease.
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And I must bear What is ordained with patience, being aware Necessity doth front the universe With an invincible gesture.
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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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The man, most man, Works best for men, and, if most men indeed, He gets his manhood plainest from his soul: While, obviously, this stringent soul itself Obeys our old rules of development The Spirit ever witnessing in ours, And Love, the soul of soul, within the soul, Evolving it sublimely.
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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 world's male chivalry has perished out, but women are knights-errant to the last and, if Cervantes had been greater still, he had made his Don a Donna.
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But I love you, sir: And when a woman says she loves a man, The man must hear her, though he love her not.
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Quick-loving hearts ... may quickly loathe.
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The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise, I barter for curl upon that mart.
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For 'Tis not in mere death that men die most.
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Oh, a day in the city-square, there is no such pleasure in life!
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She has seen the mystery hid Under Egypt's pyramid: By those eyelids pale and close Now she knows what Rhamses knows.
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Folded eyes see brighter colors than the open ever do.
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Of writing many books there is no end.
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Men of science, osteologists And surgeons, beat some poets, in respect For nature,-count nought common or unclean, Spend raptures upon perfect specimens Of indurated veins, distorted joints, Or beautiful new cases of curved spine While we, we are shocked at nature's falling off, We dare to shrink back from her warts and blains.
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But since he had The genius to be loved, why let him have The justice to be honoured in his grave.
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Definition of Love: A score of zero in tennis. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears of all my life.
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Anybody is qualified, according to everybody, for giving opinions upon poetry. It is not so in chemistry and mathematics. Nor is it so, I believe, in whist and the polka. But then these are more serious things.
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I would confide to you perhaps my secret profession of faith - which is ... which is ... that let us say and do what we please and can ... there is a natural inferiority of mind in women - of the intellect ... not by any means, of the moral nature - and that the history of Art and of genius testifies to this fact openly.
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