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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.

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
Eye
Softly
Nature
Feathers
Littles
Showed
Little
Brown
Right
Delight
General
Doves
Deep
Glittering
Eyes
Dove

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XI I sang his name instead of song Over and over I sang his name: Backward and forward I sang it along, With my sweetest notes, it was still the same! I sang it low, that the slave-girls near Might never guess, from what they could hear, That all the song was a name.
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Too much beauty, I reckon, is nothing but too much sun.
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A man may love a woman perfectly, and yet by no means ignorantly maintain a thousand women have not larger eyes. Enough that she alone has looked at him with eyes that, large or small, have won his soul.
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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
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The large white owl that with eye is blind, That hath sate for years in the old tree hollow, Is carried away in a gust of wind.
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Wall must get the weather stain Before they grow the ivy.
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I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless That only men incredulous of despair, half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air beat upward to god's throne in loud access of shrieking and reproach
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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You're something between a dream and a miracle.
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Unless you can muse in a crowd all day On the absent face that fixed you Unless you can love, as the angels may, With the breadth of heaven betwixt you Unless you can dream that his faith is fast, Through behoving and unbehoving Unless you can die when the dream is past — Oh, never call it loving!
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Since when was genius found respectable?
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Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead!
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Will that light come again, As now these tears come...falling hot and real!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Happy are all free peoples, too strong to be dispossessed. But blessed are those among nations who dare to be strong for the rest!
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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.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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The least flower, with brimming cup, may stand and share its dew drop with another near.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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For me, my heart, that erst did go Most like a tired child at a show, That sees through tears the mummers leap, Would now its wearied vision close, Would childlike on His love repose, Who giveth His Beloved, sleep.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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And yet, because I love thee, I obtain From that same love this vindicating grace, To live on still in love, and yet in vain
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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A child's kiss Set on thy sighing lips shall make thee glad A poor man served by thee shall make thee rich A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense Of service which thou renderest.
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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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Where Christ brings His cross He brings His presence and where He is none are desolate, and there is no room for despair.
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