Great Throughts Treasury

This site is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Alan William Smolowe who gave birth to the creation of this database.

Elizabeth Browning, fully Elizabeth Barrett Browning

English Poet, Wife of Robert Browning

"For me, my heart, that erst did go most like a tired child at a show, that sees through tears the mummers leap, would now its wearied vision close, would childlike on His love repose, who giveth His Beloved, sleep."

"For none can express thee, though all should approve thee. I love thee so, Dear, that I only can love thee."

"For poets (bear the word) half-poets even, are still whole democrats."

"For tis not in mere death that men die most."

"Free men freely work: whoever fears God, fears to sit at ease."

"From any use that pleased him! God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, and thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, a gauntlet with a gift in't."

"Get leave to work in this world,--'tis the best you get at all."

"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."

"Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand henceforward in thy shadow."

"God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, and thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, a gauntlet with a gift in 't."

"God did anoint thee with His odorous oil, to wrestle not to reign."

"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."

"God only, who made us rich, can make us poor."

"God's in His Heaven - All's right with the world!"

"God's prophets of the Beautiful, these Poets were."

"Good critics, who have stamped out poets' hope, good statesmen, who pulled ruin on the state, good patriots, who for a theory risked a cause."

"Good, to forgive; Best, to forget."

"Guess now who holds thee?—Death, I said. But there the silver answer rang—Not Death, but Love."

"He likes the poor things of the world the best, I would not, therefore, if I could be rich. It pleases him t stoop for buttercups."

"He lives most life whoever breathes most air."

"He said true things, but called them by wrong names."

"He smiled as men smile when they will not speak, because of something bitter in the thought."

"He, in his developed manhood, stood A little sunburnt by the glare of life; While I, it seemed no sun had shone on me"

"Her deep blue eyes smile constantly, as if they had by fitness won the secret of a happy dream she does not care to speak."

"Here's ivy! — take them, as I used to do thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true, and tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine."

"He's just, your cousin, ay, abhorrently; He'd wash his hands in blood, to keep them clean"

"Hope, he called, belief in God,--work, worship . . . therefore let us pray!"

"How he sleepeth! having drunken weary childhood's mandragore, from his pretty eyes have sunken pleasures to make room for more-- sleeping near the withered nosegay which he pulled the day before."

"How joyously the young sea-mew lay dreaming on the waters blue, whereon our little bark had thrown a little shade, the only one; but shadows ever man pursue."

"How many desolate creatures on the earth have learnt the simple dues of fellowship and social comfort, in a hospital."

"Hurt a fly! He would not for the world: he's pitiful to flies even. Sing, says he, and tease me still, if that's your way, poor insect."

"Hush, call no echo up in further proof of desolation! there's a voice within that weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof."

"I am one who could have forgotten the plague, listening to Boccaccio's stories; and I am not ashamed of it."

"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. I cannot feel that all is well, when dark'ning clouds conceal the shining sun; but then I know God lives and loves; and say, since it is so, Thy will be done."

"I felt so young, so strong, so sure of God."

"I give the fight up; let there be an end, A privacy, an obscure nook for me, I want to be forgotten even by God."

"I know--is all the mourner saith, knowledge by suffering entereth; and Life is perfected by Death."

"I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use"

"I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach."

"I love thee to the level of everyday's most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. 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."

"I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out."

"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. And having in thy life-depth thrown being and suffering (which are one), as a child drops his pebble small down some deep well, and hears it fall smiling — so I. Thy Days Go On."

"I sang his name instead of song; over and over I sang his name: backward and forward I sang it along, with my sweetest notes, it was still the same! I sang it low, that the slave-girls near m0ight never guess, from what they could hear, that all the song was a name."

"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."

"I seek no copy now of life's first half: leave here the pages with long musing curled, and write me new my future's epigraph, new angel mine, unhoped for in the world!"

"I shall but love thee bitter after death."

"I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless; that only men incredulous of despair, half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air beat upward to God's throne in loud access of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness, in souls as countries, lieth silent-bare under the blanching, vertical eye-glare of the absolute Heavens."

"I think it frets the saints in heaven to see How many desolate creatures on the earth Have learnt the simple dues of fellowship And social comfort, in a hospital."

"I think of thee!-my thoughts do twine and bud about thee, as wild vines, about a tree... Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood I will not have my thoughts instead of thee who art dearer, better!"