Poem Lake | The Greatest Poems of All Time

A Portrait “One name is Elizabeth.” —BEN JONSON. I WILL paint her as I see her. Ten times have the lilies blown Since she looked upon the sun. And her face is lily-clear, Lily-shaped, and dropped in duty To the law of its own beauty.... Poet: Elizabeth Barrett Browning	The Romance of the Swan’s Nest LITTLE Ellie sits alone Mid the beeches of a meadow, By a stream-side on the grass, And the trees are showering down Doubles of their leaves in shadow, On her shining hair and face. She has thrown her bonnet by, And her feet she... Poet: Elizabeth Barrett Browning	Sonnets from the PortugueseVI. Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore Alone upon the threshold of my door Of individual life, I shall command The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand Serenely in the sunshine as before, Without the sense of... Poet: Elizabeth Barrett Browning	Sonnets from the PortugueseXIV. If thou must love me, let it be for naught If thou must love me, let it be for naught Except for love’s sake only. Do not say “I love her for her smile … her look … her way Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a... Poet: Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnets from the PortugueseXVIII. I never gave a lock of hair away I Never gave a lock of hair away To a man, Dearest, except this to thee, Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully I ring out to the full brown length and say “Take it.” My day of youth went yesterday; My hair no longer bounds to my foot’s glee. Nor... Poet: Elizabeth Barrett Browning	Sonnets from the PortugueseXXI. Say over again, and yet once over again 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... Poet: Elizabeth Barrett Browning	Sonnets from the PortugueseXXVIII. My letters! all dead paper,… mute and white! My letters! all dead paper,… mute and white!— And yet they seem alive and quivering Against my tremulous hands which loose the string And let them drop down on my knee to-night. This said,… he wished to have me in his sight Once, as a friend: this fixed a... Poet: Elizabeth Barrett Browning	Sonnets from the PortugueseXXXV. If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange And be all to me? Shall I never miss Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange, When I look up, to drop on a new range Of walls and floors, another home than this... Poet: Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnets from the PortugueseXXXVIII. First time he kissed me, he but only kissed First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And, ever since, it grew more clean and white, Slow to world-greetings, quick with its “O list!” When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here,... Poet: Elizabeth Barrett Browning	Sonnets from the PortugueseXXXIX. Because thou hast the power and own’st the grace Because thou hast the power and own’st the grace To look through and behind this mask of me, (Against which, years have beat thus blanchingly With their rains,) and behold my soul’s true face, The dim and weary witness of life’s race,— Because thou hast... Poet: Elizabeth Barrett Browning