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The soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,And placed it by thee on a golden throne,-- And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
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
Love
Golden
Thee
Snatched
Mines
Meek
Mine
Faint
Weak
Throne
Alone
Thrones
Soul
Placed
Must
Hath
More quotes by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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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Books are men of higher stature, and the only men that speak aloud for future times to hear.
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Death forerunneth Love to win Sweetest eyes were ever seen.
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A woman's pity sometimes makes her mad.
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O rose, who dares to name thee? No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet, But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubblewheat, Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame thee.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Eyes of gentianellas azure, Staring, winking at the skies.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Books succeed and lives fail.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
You smell a rose through a fence: If two should smell it, what matter?
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
For 'Tis not in mere death that men die most.
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A grave, on which to rest from singing?
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Never say No when the world says Aye.
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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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Folded eyes see brighter colors than the open ever do.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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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O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road Singing beside the hedge.
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Of writing many books there is no end.
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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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Free men freely work: Whoever fears God, fears to sit at ease.
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We overstate the ills of life, and take Imagination... down our earth to rake.
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He lives most life whoever breathes most air.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning