Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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

Elizabeth Barrett Browning Poems

1. A Child Asleep 5/12/2001
2. A Curse For A Nation 5/12/2001
3. A Dead Rose 5/12/2001
4. A Man's Requirements 12/31/2002
5. A Musical Instrument 5/12/2001
6. A Sea-Side Walk 5/12/2001
7. A Thought For A Lonely Death-Bed 5/12/2001
8. A Woman's Shortcomings 1/3/2003
9. A Year's Spinning 1/13/2003
10. Adequacy 5/12/2001
11. An Apprehension 5/12/2001
12. Aurora Leigh (Excerpts) 1/1/2004
13. Change Upon Change 5/12/2001
14. Cheerfulness Taught By Reason 5/12/2001
15. Chorus Of Eden Spirits 1/1/2004
16. Comfort 5/12/2001
17. Consolation 12/31/2002
18. De Profundis 12/31/2002
19. Discontent 5/12/2001
20. Exaggeration 5/12/2001
21. Flush Or Faunus 1/5/2015
22. From ‘the Soul’s Travelling’ 1/1/2004
23. Futurity 5/12/2001
24. Grief 5/12/2001
25. How Do I Love Thee? 5/12/2001
26. Human Life’s Mystery 1/1/2004
27. I 5/12/2001
28. Ii 5/12/2001
29. Iii 5/12/2001
30. Insufficiency 5/12/2001
31. Irreparableness 5/12/2001
32. Iv 5/12/2001
33. Ix 5/12/2001
34. Lord Walter's Wife 12/31/2002
35. Love 4/21/2015
36. Minstrelsy 5/12/2001
37. Mother And Poet 1/1/2004
38. My Heart And I 1/1/2004
39. My Letters! All Dead Paper. . . (Sonnet Xxviii) 1/20/2003
40. On A Portrait Of Wordsworth 5/12/2001
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?

Sonnet Xxi

Say over again, and yet once over again,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem ' a cuckoo-song,' as thou dost treat it,
Remember, never to the hill or plain,
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain
Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain
Cry, ' Speak once more--thou lovest ! ' Who can fear

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