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. Sonnet Xxxvii 12/31/2002
5. Xxxiv 5/13/2001
6. Sonnet Xxvi 12/31/2002
7. Sonnet Xxv 12/31/2002
8. Vii 5/13/2001
9. Viii 5/13/2001
10. Sonnet Xvi 12/31/2002
11. Xxxvi 5/13/2001
12. Xxxix 5/13/2001
13. Xxxiii 5/13/2001
14. Xxxi 5/13/2001
15. Sonnet Xxiii 12/31/2002
16. Xxxvii 5/13/2001
17. Sonnet Xliv 12/31/2002
18. Xxvi 5/13/2001
19. Xv 5/13/2001
20. Xli 5/13/2001
21. Xxii 5/13/2001
22. Sonnet Xxx 12/31/2002
23. Xii 5/13/2001
24. Xxx 5/13/2001
25. Xxxii 5/13/2001
26. Sonnet Xxvii 12/31/2002
27. Sonnet Xxxviii 12/31/2002
28. Sonnet Xxxi 12/31/2002
29. Sonnet Xxxiv 12/31/2002
30. Xix 5/13/2001
31. Stanzas On The Death Of Lord Byron 3/24/2012
32. Sonnet Xvii 12/31/2002
33. Xxxv 5/13/2001
34. Sonnet Xxxiii 12/31/2002
35. Xliv 5/13/2001
36. Xxvii 5/13/2001
37. Sonnet Xxxi: Thou Comest! 1/3/2003
38. Sonnet Xxiii: Is It Indeed So? 1/3/2003
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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