Elizabeth Barrett Browning ( 10 of 96 )
God keeps a niche
In Heaven, to hold our idols; and albeit
He brake them to our read more
God keeps a niche
In Heaven, to hold our idols; and albeit
He brake them to our faces, and denied
That our close kisses should impair their white,--
I know we shall behold them raised, complete,
The dust swept from their beauty, glorified,
New Memnons singing in the great God-light.
Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low,
Lest read more
Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low,
Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so
Who art not missed by any that entreat.
Since when was genius found respectable?
Since when was genius found respectable?
God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers,
And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face,
read more
God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers,
And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face,
A gauntlet with a gift in 't.
A worthless woman! mere cold clay
As all false things are! but so fair,
She takes the read more
A worthless woman! mere cold clay
As all false things are! but so fair,
She takes the breath of men away
Who gaze upon her unaware:
I would not play her larcenous tricks
To have her looks!
. . . Purple lilies Dante blew
To a larger bubble with his prophet breath.
. . . Purple lilies Dante blew
To a larger bubble with his prophet breath.
A woman's always younger than a man of equal years.
A woman's always younger than a man of equal years.
Hope, he called, belief
In God,--work, worship . . . therefore let us pray!
Hope, he called, belief
In God,--work, worship . . . therefore let us pray!
By the way,
The works of women are symbolical.
We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull out read more
By the way,
The works of women are symbolical.
We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull out sight,
Producing what? A pair of slippers, sir,
To put on when you're weary--or a stool
To tumble over and vex you . . . curse that stool!
Or else at best, a cushion where you lean
And sleep, and dream of something we are not,
But would be for your sake. Alas, alas!
This hurts most, this . . . that, after all, we are paid
The worth of our work, perhaps.
Knowledge by suffering entereth,
And life is perfected by Death.
Knowledge by suffering entereth,
And life is perfected by Death.
