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 ...

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Sonnet Xli: I Thank All

I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all
Who paused a little near the prison-wall
To hear my music in its louder parts
Ere they went onward, each one to the mart's
Or temple's occupation, beyond call.
But thou, who, in my voice's sink and fall
When the sob took it, thy divinest Art's
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot

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