Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861): English poet. The library holds 47 quotes by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, drawn from Aurora Leigh, A Vision of Poets, The Dead Pan and other works. The 47 below are the most quoted; search the library in the maker for the rest.
Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive,
Half wishing they were dead to save the shame.
The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow;
They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats,
And flare up bodily, wings and all.
What is this thought or thing
Which I call beauty? is it thought or thing?
Is it a thought accepted for a thing?
Or both? or neither—a pretext?—a word?
Whoever may discern true ends will grow pure enough
To love them, brave enough to strive for them,
And strong enough to reach them, though the road be rough.
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.
My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive, and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee to-night.
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!
And that dismal cry rose slowly
And sank slowly through the air,
Full of spirit’s melancholy
And eternity’s despair;
And they heard the words it said,—“Pan is dead! great Pan is dead!
Pan, Pan is dead!”
Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward into souls afar,
Along the Psalmist’s music deep,
Now tell me if that any is,
For gift or grace, surpassing this—“He giveth His beloved sleep”?
I praise Thee while my days go on;
I love Thee while my days go on:
Through dark and dearth, through fire and frost,
With emptied arms and treasure lost,
I thank Thee while my days go on.
So others shall
Take patience, labor, to their heart and hand,
From thy hand, and thy heart, and thy brave cheer,
And God’s grace fructify through thee to all.
The least flower with a brimming cup may stand,
And share its dewdrop with another near.
God keeps a niche
In Heaven, to hold our idols; and albeit
He brake them to our faces, and denied
That our close kisses should impair their white,—I know we shall behold them raised, complete,
The dust swept from their beauty, glorified,
New Memnons singing in the great God-light.
Women know the way to rear up children (to be just);
They know a simple, merry, tender knack
Of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes,
And stringing pretty words that make no sense,
And kissing full sense into empty words:
Which things are corals to cut life upon,
Although such trifles.