How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can… — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
Women know the way to rear up children (to be just). They know a simple, merry, tender knack of tying sashes, fitting… — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
The English have a scornful insular way Of calling the French light. — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
Most illogical Irrational nature of our womanhood, That blushes one way, feels another way, And prays, perhaps another! — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
I f thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say, I love her… — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
And lilies are still lilies, pulled By smutty hands, though spotted from their white. — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
The Greeks said grandly in their tragic phrase, 'Let no one be called happy till his death;' to which I would add, 'Let no… — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
“The face of all the world is changed, I think, Since first I heard the footsteps of they soul Move still, oh, still, beside… — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
Wall must get the weather stain Before they grow the ivy. — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
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… — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
With stammering lips and insufficient sound I strive and struggle to deliver right the music of my nature. — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
The charm, one might say the genius, of memory is that it is choosy, chancy and temperamental. — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
The flower-girl's prayer to buy roses and pinks, held out in the smoke, like stars by day. — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
They say that God lives very high! But if you look above the pines You cannot see our God. And why? And if you… — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
Men of science, osteologists And surgeons, beat some poets, in respect For nature,-count nought common or unclean, Spend raptures upon perfect specimens Of indurated… — Elizabeth Barrett Browning Copy Share Image
