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I love thee to the level of everyday's most quiet need, by sun and candle light...I love thee with the breath,smiles,t ears,of all my life.

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
Level
Candle
Levels
Breath
Light
Breaths
Need
Thee
Needs
Ears
Love
Everyday
Life
Sun
Vow
Quiet
Smiles

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There Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb The crowns o' the world oh, eyes sublime With tears and laughter for all time!
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Children use the fist until they are of age to use the brain.
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My future will not copy my fair past, I wrote that once. And, thinking at my side my ministering life-angel justified the word by his appealing look upcast to the white throne of God.
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And each man stands with his face in the light. Of his own drawn sword, ready to do what a hero can.
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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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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.
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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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If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange And be all to me?
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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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My patience has dreadful chilblains from standing so long on a monument.
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Sing, seraph with the glory! heaven is high. Sing, poet with the sorrow! earth is low. The universe's inward voices cry Amen to either song of joy and woe. Sing, seraph, poet! sing on equally!
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Nor myrtle--which means chiefly love: and love Is something awful which one dare not touch So early o' mornings.
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Get work, get work Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get.
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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.
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How joyously the young sea-mew Lay dreaming on the waters blue, Whereon our little bark had thrown A little shade, the only one But shadows ever man pursue.
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O, brothers! let us leave the shame and sin Of taking vainly in a plaintive mood, The holy name of Grief--holy herein, That, by the grief of One, came all our good.
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I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints,-I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!-and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
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The least flower, with brimming cup, may stand and share its dew drop with another near.
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The critics could never mortify me out of heart - because I love poetry for its own sake, - and, tho' with no stoicism and some ambition, care more for my poems than for my poetic reputation.
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