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The music soars within the little lark, And the lark soars.
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
Littles
Music
Little
Soars
Lark
Larks
Soar
Within
More quotes by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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
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.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Books are men of higher stature, and the only men that speak aloud for future times to hear.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
When God helps all the workers for His world, The singers shall have help of Him, not last.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Where Christ brings His cross He brings His presence and where He is none are desolate, and there is no room for despair.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
But since he had The genius to be loved, why let him have The justice to be honoured in his grave.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
A woman's pity sometimes makes her mad.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Wall must get the weather stain Before they grow the ivy.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write And, ever since, it grew more clean and white.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
He lives most life whoever breathes most air.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
And each man stands with his face in the light. Of his own drawn sword, ready to do what a hero can.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The charm, one might say the genius, of memory is that it is choosy, chancy and temperamental.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Love me sweet With all thou art Feeling, thinking, seeing Love me in the Lightest part, Love me in full Being.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
You're something between a dream and a miracle.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
OF writing many books there is no end And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses, will write now for mine,- Will write my story for my better self, As when you paint your portrait for a friend, Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it Long after he has ceased to love you, just To hold together what he was and is.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
As the moths around a taper, As the bees around a rose, As the gnats around a vapour, So the spirits group and close Round about a holy childhood, as if drinking its repose.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning