Elizabeth Barrett Browning

From: (ME) Ǻήgέ£♥OF♥£oVέ♥ - - - - Sent: 5/31/2003 8:49 AM A Dead Rose by Elizabeth Barrett Browning   O Rose! who dares to name thee? No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet; But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat,--- Kept seven years in a drawer---thy titles shame thee. The breeze that used to blow thee Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away An odour up the lane to last all day,--- If breathing now,---unsweetened would forego thee. The sun that used to smite thee, And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn, Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn,--- If shining now,---with not a hue would light thee. The dew that used to wet thee, And, white first, grow incarnadined, because It lay upon thee where the crimson was,--- If dropping now,---would darken where it met thee. The fly that lit upon thee, To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet, Along thy leaf's pure edges, after heat,--- If lighting now,---would coldly overrun thee. The bee that once did suck thee, And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive, And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive,--- If passing now,---would blindly overlook thee. The heart doth recognise thee, Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet, Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete,--- Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee. Yes, and the heart doth owe thee More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!--- Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee!=================================================================== From: (ME) Ǻήgέ£♥OF♥£oVέ♥ - - - - Sent: 12/25/2003 1:54 PM How Do I Love Thee?  by Elizabeth Barrett Browning How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, -- I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.