Elizabeth Barrett Browning

(6 March 1806 – 29 June 1861 / Durham / England)

Elizabeth Barrett Browning Poems

1. Love 4/21/2015
2. Paraphrase on Anacreon: Ode to the Swallow 5/20/2015
3. Flush Or Faunus 1/5/2015
4. Stanzas On The Death Of Lord Byron 3/24/2012
5. Xii 5/13/2001
6. Xli 5/13/2001
7. Sonnet Xxxvii 12/31/2002
8. Sonnet Xxxviii 12/31/2002
9. Xxxiv 5/13/2001
10. Sonnet Xxvi 12/31/2002
11. Sonnet Xxv 12/31/2002
12. Xxx 5/13/2001
13. Sonnet Xvi 12/31/2002
14. Viii 5/13/2001
15. Vii 5/13/2001
16. Sonnet Xxvi: I Lived With Visions 1/3/2003
17. Xxxix 5/13/2001
18. Xxxiii 5/13/2001
19. Xxxvi 5/13/2001
20. Xxxi 5/13/2001
21. Sonnet Xxvii 12/31/2002
22. Xxxvii 5/13/2001
23. Sonnet Xliv 12/31/2002
24. Sonnet Xxxiv 12/31/2002
25. Xxvi 5/13/2001
26. Sonnet Xxxix 12/31/2002
27. Xv 5/13/2001
28. Sonnet Xxviii 12/31/2002
29. Xxviii 5/13/2001
30. Xxii 5/13/2001
31. Xxix 5/13/2001
32. Xxvii 5/13/2001
33. V 5/13/2001
34. Sonnet Xxxi: Thou Comest! 1/3/2003
35. Xxxii 5/13/2001
36. Sonnet Xx 12/31/2002
37. Sonnet Xxiii 12/31/2002
38. Sonnet Xxxi 12/31/2002
39. Xxiii 5/13/2001
40. Xx 5/13/2001
Best Poem of Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How Do I Love Thee?

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a 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 ...

Read the full of How Do I Love Thee?

Xxxii

The first time that the sun rose on thine oath
To love me, I looked forward to the moon
To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.
Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe;
And, looking on myself, I seemed not one
For such man's love !--more like an out-of-tune
Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth
To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste,

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