And yet, because I love thee, I obtain From that same love this vindicating grace, To live on still in love, and yet in vain
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningExperience, like a pale musician, holds a dulcimer of patience in his hand.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningBooks, 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!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning