Elizabeth Barrett Browning ( 10 of 96 )
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.
Let no one till his death
Be called unhappy. Measure not the work
Until the day's out read more
Let no one till his death
Be called unhappy. Measure not the work
Until the day's out and the labour done.
Free men freely work:
Whoever fears God, fears to sit at ease.
Free men freely work:
Whoever fears God, fears to sit at ease.
Hope, he called, belief
In God,--work, worship . . . therefore let us pray!
Hope, he called, belief
In God,--work, worship . . . therefore let us pray!
Every wish
Is like a prayer--with God.
Every wish
Is like a prayer--with God.
Capacity for joy
Admits temptation.
Capacity for joy
Admits temptation.
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
They are read more
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers,
And that cannot stop their tears.
You forget too much
That every creature, female as the male,
Stands single in responsible act and read more
You forget too much
That every creature, female as the male,
Stands single in responsible act and thought
As also in birth and death.
I worked with patience which means almost power.
I worked with patience which means almost power.
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.
