Elizabeth Barrett Browning
English poet (1806–1861)
1806–1861, born in Durham
- Born
- 6 March 1806
- Birthplace
- Durham
- Died
- 29 June 1861
From their work
Or from Browning some "Pomegranate," which, if cut deep down the middle, Shows a heart within blood-tinctured, of a veined humanity.
Read the opening of Sonnets from the Portuguese · about 1 min
I thought once how Theocritus had sung Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years, Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young: And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me. Straightway I was ’ware, So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair; And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,— “Guess now who holds thee!”—“Death,” I said, But, there, The silver answer rang, “Not Death, but Love.”
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A THOUGHT ay like a flower upon mine heart,And drew around it other thoughts like beesFor multitude and thirst of sweetnesses;Whereat rejoicing, I desired the artOf the Greek whistler, who to wharf and martCould lure those insect swarms from orange-treesThat I might hive with me such thoughts and pleaseMy soul so, always. foolish counterpartOf a weak man's vain wishes ! While I spoke,The thought I called a flower grew nettle-roughThe thoughts, called bees, stung me to festering:Oh, entertain (cried Reason as she woke)Your best and gladdest thoughts but long enough,And they will all prove sad enough to sting !
Quotes from Wikiquote (CC BY-SA 4.0). Texts of this author are in the public domain in the UK.