Maxioms by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
What is art
But life upon the larger scale, the higher,
When, graduating up in a spiral read more
What is art
But life upon the larger scale, the higher,
When, graduating up in a spiral line
Of still expanding and ascending gyres,
It pushed toward the intense significance
Of all things, hungry for the Infinite?
Art's life--and where we live, we suffer and toil.
O rose, who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet,
But pale, read more
O rose, who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet,
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubblewheat,--
Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame thee.
The beauty seems right
By force of beauty, and the feeble wrong
Because of weakness.
The beauty seems right
By force of beauty, and the feeble wrong
Because of weakness.
Get leave to work
In this world,--'tis the best you get at all.
Get leave to work
In this world,--'tis the best you get at all.
The world goes whispering to its own,
"This anguish pierces to the bone;"
And tender friends go read more
The world goes whispering to its own,
"This anguish pierces to the bone;"
And tender friends go sighing round,
"What love can ever cure this wound?"
My days go on, my days go on.
