Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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

Elizabeth Barrett Browning Poems

41. Sonnet Xxiii: Is It Indeed So? 1/3/2003
42. Sonnet Xxxix 12/31/2002
43. Sonnet Xxiv: Let The World's Sharpness 1/3/2003
44. Sonnet Xliv: Belovèd, Thou Hast Brought Me 1/3/2003
45. Xlii 5/13/2001
46. Sonnet Xvii 12/31/2002
47. Sonnet Xxviii: My Letters 5/13/2001
48. Sonnet Xxiv 12/31/2002
49. Sonnet Xv 12/31/2002
50. Xi 5/13/2001
51. Vi 5/13/2001
52. Sonnet Xvii: My Poet, Thou Canst Touch 1/3/2003
53. Sonnet Xxxvi 12/31/2002
54. Xvii 5/13/2001
55. Sonnet Xx Beloved, My Beloved 12/31/2002
56. Xliii 5/13/2001
57. Sonnet Xix 12/31/2002
58. Sonnet Xxxii 12/31/2002
59. Xl 5/13/2001
60. Sonnet Xxvi: I Lived With Visions 1/3/2003
61. Xxv 5/13/2001
62. Sonnet Xxix 12/31/2002
63. X 5/13/2001
64. Xxi 5/13/2001
65. Xxiv 5/13/2001
66. Sonnet Xxxix: Because Thou Hast The Power 1/3/2003
67. Sonnet Xl 12/31/2002
68. Xxxviii 5/13/2001
69. Xviii 5/13/2001
70. Xvi 5/13/2001
71. Sonnet Xxii 12/31/2002
72. Xiv 5/13/2001
73. Sonnet 31 - Thou Comest! All Is Said Without A Word 1/13/2003
74. Sonnet Xxxvii: Pardon, Oh, Pardon 1/3/2003
75. Sonnet Xxxiv: With The Same Heart 1/3/2003
76. Substitution 5/12/2001
77. Sonnet Xxvii: My Dear Belovèd 1/3/2003
78. The Landing Of The Pilgrim Fathers 1/3/2003
79. Sonnet Xxxv 12/31/2002
80. Sonnet Xiii 12/31/2002
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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