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  1. 9 de mai. de 2024 · 2. The Role of Language in Love. 3. The Relevance of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Poem. 4. The Legacy of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Poem. The poem is written in an ABCB rhyme scheme, with each of the fourteen lines starting with the same letter, making it a sonnet. The poem begins with Elizabeth asking her beloved how much she loves him.

  2. 9 de mai. de 2024 · The final lines of the sonnet encapsulate Browning's steadfast commitment to love, transcending the boundaries of mortality. "I shall but love thee better after death," she proclaims, underscoring the eternal nature of her affection. In essence, Elizabeth Barrett Browning's sonnet serves as a timeless ode to love's enduring power.

  3. Há 2 dias · To Flush, My Dog. Yet, my pretty sportive friend, Little is't to such an end. That I praise thy rareness! Other dogs may be thy peers. Haply in these drooping ears, And this glossy fairness. But of thee it shall be said, This dog watched beside a bed.

  4. Há 2 dias · Call me no longer. Silence on the bier, While I call God -call God!-So let thy mouth. Be heir to those who are now exanimate. Gather the north flowers to complete the south, And catch the early love up in the late. Yes, call me by that name,-and I, in truth, With the same heart, will answer and not wait. Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

  5. Há 1 dia · O blissful Mouth which breathed the mournful breath. We name our souls, self-spoilt!-by that strong passion. Which paled Thee once with sighs,-by that strong death. Which made Thee once unbreathing-from the wrack. Themselves have called around them, call them back, Back to Thee in continuous aspiration! For here, O Lord,

  6. Há 1 dia · 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. Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

  7. Há 6 dias · Stanzas On The Death Of Lord Byron. He was, and is not! Graecia's trembling shore, Sighing through all her palmy groves, shall tell. That Harold's pilgrimage at last is o'er-. Mute the impassioned tongue, and tuneful shell, That erst was wont in noblest strains to swell-. Hush'd the proud shouts that rode Aegaea's wave!

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