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Much of the possibility of being cheerful comes from the faculty of throwing oneself beyond oneself.
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
Comes
Much
Cheerfulness
Cheerful
Faculty
Throwing
Oneself
Possibility
Beyond
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Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers?
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You were made perfectly to be loved - and surely I have loved you, in the idea of you, my whole life long.
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Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, A creature might forget to weep, who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love, thereby! But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.
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How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
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Too much beauty, I reckon, is nothing but too much sun.
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Eyes of gentianellas azure, Staring, winking at the skies.
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And Chaucer, with his infantine Familiar clasp of things divine.
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Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead!
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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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Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished.
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Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning.
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For 'Tis not in mere death that men die most.
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Light tomorrow with today!
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Thou large-brain'd woman and large-hearted man.
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Death forerunneth Love to win Sweetest eyes were ever seen.
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Get leave to work In this world,--'tis the best you get at all.
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The essence of all beauty, I call love.
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The charm, one might say the genius, of memory is that it is choosy, chancy and temperamental.
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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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What is art but the life upon the larger scale, the higher. When, graduating up in a spiral line of still expanding and ascending gyres, it pushes toward the intense significance of all things, hungry for the infinite?
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