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O Life, How oft we throw it off and think, — 'Enough, Enough of life in so much! — here's a cause For rupture; — herein we must break with Life, Or b… - Elizabeth Barrett Browning
" "O Life,
How oft we throw it off and think, — 'Enough,
Enough of life in so much! — here's a cause
For rupture; — herein we must break with Life,
Or be ourselves unworthy; here we are wronged,
Maimed, spoiled for aspiration: farewell Life!' — And so, as froward babes, we hide our eyes
And think all ended. — Then, Life calls to us
In some transformed, apocryphal, new voice,
Above us, or below us, or around . .
Perhaps we name it Nature's voice, or Love's,
Tricking ourselves, because we are more ashamed
To own our compensations than our griefs:
Still, Life's voice! — still, we make our peace with Life.
English
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About Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (March 6 1806 – June 29 1861) was an English poet and the wife of Robert Browning.
Biography information from Wikiquote
Also Known As
Birth Name:
Elizabeth Moulton-Barrett
Alternative Names:
Mrs. Browning
•
Elizabeth Barrett Barrett
•
Elizabeth Barrett-Browning
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Elizaveta Barrett Brauning
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Elisabeth Barrett Browning
•
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, née Barrett
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Additional quotes by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The cypress stood up like a church
That night we felt our love would hold,
And saintly moonlight seemed to search
And wash the whole world clean as gold;
The olives crystallized the vales'
Broad slopes until the hills grew strong:
The fireflies and the nightingales
Throbbed each to either, flame and song.
The nightingales, the nightingales.
Books, books, books!
I had found the secret of a garret room
Piled high with cases in my father’s name;
Piled high, packed large, — where, creeping in and out
Among the giant fossils of my past,
Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs
Of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there
At this or that box, pulling through the gap,
In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy,
The first book first. And how I felt it beat
Under my pillow, in the morning’s dark,
An hour before the sun would let me read!
My books!
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