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The Best Thing in the World

What's the best thing in the world?
June-rose, by May-dew impearled;
Sweet south-wind, that means no rain;
Truth, not cruel to a friend;
Pleasure, not in haste to end;
Beauty, not self-decked and curled
Till its pride is over-plain;
Love, when, so, you're loved again.
What's the best thing in the world?
--Something out of it, I think.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Biography can be found at:
Last edited {1}
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Poetry of Elizabeth Barrett Browning


If thou must love me, let it be for nought
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 day" -
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, -
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou may'st love on, through love's eternity.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning - The Poet And The Bird

Said a people to a poet---" Go out from among us straightway!
While we are thinking earthly things, thou singest of divine.
There's a little fair brown nightingale, who, sitting in the gateways
Makes fitter music to our ears than any song of thine!"

The poet went out weeping---the nightingale ceased chanting;
"Now, wherefore, O thou nightingale, is all thy sweetness done?"
I cannot sing my earthly things, the heavenly poet wanting,
Whose highest harmony includes the lowest under sun."

The poet went out weeping,---and died abroad, bereft there---
The bird flew to his grave and died, amid a thousand wails:---
And, when I last came by the place, I swear the music left there
Was only of the poet's song, and not the nightingale's.


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  • nightingale
Last edited by Vicky2
Its a beautiful poetry. u know poetry is not said by mouth but from within the heart and it expresses alot more than just words. in a single line of a poem, a poet can say the meaning of our life. and yet it is a shame that so few people actually take intrest into it. Vicky keep up the good work. may be tomorow i will post one of my favourite poems here too
"Love for all Hatred for none".
Thank you Razi and Vicky for your nice replies.
Welcome Razi, it is very nice to see you here. Please do post some of your poetry.

Sue Cat Cat2

Elizabeth Barrett Browning - 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
Day and night unweary—
Watched within a curtained room,
Where no sunbeam brake the gloom
Round the sick and dreary.

Roses, gathered for a vase,
In that chamber died apace,
Beam and breeze resigning.
This dog only, waited on,
Knowing that when light is gone
Love remains for shining.

Other dogs in thymy dew
Tracked the hares, and followed through
Sunny moor or meadow.
This dog only, crept and crept
Next a languid cheek that slept,
Sharing in the shadow.

Other dogs of loyal cheer
Bounded at the whistle clear,
Up the woodside hieing.
This dog only, watched in reach
Of a faintly uttered speech,
Or a louder sighing.

And if one or two quick tears
Dropped upon his glossy ears,
Or a sigh came double—
Up he sprang in eager haste,
Fawning, fondling, breathing fast,
In a tender trouble.

And this dog was satisfied
If a pale thin hand would glide
Down his dewlaps sloping—
Which he pushed his nose within,
After—platforming his chin
On the palm left open.


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  • husky
Thank you for your nice words Razi and welcome to Givnology.
I am looking forward to reading your poetry.

Vicky 2Hearts

Elizabeth Barrett Browning - The Deserted Garden

I mind me in the days departed,
How often underneath the sun
With childish bounds I used to run
To a garden long deserted.

The beds and walks were vanished quite;
And wheresoe'er had struck the spade,
The greenest grasses Nature laid
To sanctify her right.

I called the place my wilderness,
For no one entered there but I;
The sheep looked in, the grass to espy,
And passed it ne'ertheless.

The trees were interwoven wild,
And spread their boughs enough about
To keep both sheep and shepherd out,
But not a happy child.

Adventurous joy it was for me!
I crept beneath the boughs, and found
A circle smooth of mossy ground
Beneath a poplar tree.

Old garden rose-trees hedged it in,
Bedropt with roses waxen-white
Well satisfied with dew and light
And careless to be seen.

Long years ago it might befall,
When all the garden flowers were trim,
The grave old gardener prided him
On these the most of all.

Some lady, stately overmuch,
Here moving with a silken noise,
Has blushed beside them at the voice
That likened her to such.

And these, to make a diadem,
She often may have plucked and twined,
Half-smiling as it came to mind
That few would look at them.

Oh, little thought that lady proud,
A child would watch her fair white rose,
When buried lay her whiter brows,
And silk was changed for shroud!

Nor thought that gardener, (full of scorns
For men unlearned and simple phrase,)
A child would bring it all its praise
By creeping through the thorns!

To me upon my low moss seat,
Though never a dream the roses sent
Of science or love's compliment,
I ween they smelt as sweet.

It did not move my grief to see
The trace of human step departed:
Because the garden was deserted,
The blither place for me!

Friends, blame me not! a narrow ken
Has childhood 'twixt the sun and sward;
We draw the moral afterward,
We feel the gladness then.

And gladdest hours for me did glide
In silence at the rose-tree wall:
A thrush made gladness musical
Upon the other side.

Nor he nor I did e'er incline
To peck or pluck the blossoms white;
How should I know but roses might
Lead lives as glad as mine?

To make my hermit-home complete,
I brought dear water from the spring
Praised in its own low murmuring,
And cresses glossy wet.

And so, I thought, my likeness grew
(Without the melancholy tale)
To "Gentle Hermit of the Dale,"
And Angelina too.

For oft I read within my nook
Such minstrel stories; till the breeze
Made sounds poetic in the trees,
And then I shut the book.

If I shut this wherein I write
I hear no more the wind athwart
Those trees, nor feel that childish heart
Delighting in delight.

My childhood from my life is parted,
My footstep from the moss which drew
Its fairy circle round: anew
The garden is deserted.

Another thrush may there rehearse
The madrigals which sweetest are;
No more for me! myself afar
Do sing a sadder verse.

Ah me, ah me! when erst I lay
In that child's-nest so greenly wrought,
I laughed unto myself and thought
"The time will pass away."

And still I laughed, and did not fear
But that, whene'er was past away
The childish time, some happier play
My womanhood would cheer.

I knew the time would pass away,
And yet, beside the rose-tree wall,
Dear God, how seldom, if at all,
Did I look up to pray!

The time is past; and now that grows
The cypress high among the trees,
And I behold white sepulchres
As well as the white rose, --

When graver, meeker thoughts are given,
And I have learnt to lift my face,
Reminded how earth's greenest place
The color draws from heaven, --

It something saith for earthly pain,
But more for Heavenly promise free,
That I who was, would shrink to be
That happy child again.


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  • path
This is a lovely thread.
Thank you Sue for starting it and thank you all for your wonderful replies.

Welcome Razi. Nice to have you here.

A Sea-Side Walk

We walked beside the sea,
After a day which perished silently
Of its own glory---like the Princess weird
Who, combating the Genius, scorched and seared,
Uttered with burning breath, 'Ho! victory!'
And sank adown, an heap of ashes pale;
So runs the Arab tale.

The sky above us showed
An universal and unmoving cloud,
On which, the cliffs permitted us to see
Only the outline of their majesty,
As master-minds, when gazed at by the crowd!
And, shining with a gloom, the water grey
Swang in its moon-taught way.

Nor moon nor stars were out.
They did not dare to tread so soon about,
Though trembling, in the footsteps of the sun.
The light was neither night's nor day's, but one
Which, life-like, had a beauty in its doubt;
And Silence's impassioned breathings round
Seemed wandering into sound.

O solemn-beating heart
Of nature! I have knowledge that thou art
Bound unto man's by cords he cannot sever---
And, what time they are slackened by him ever,
So to attest his own supernal part,
Still runneth thy vibration fast and strong,
The slackened cord along.

For though we never spoke
Of the grey water anal the shaded rock,---
Dark wave and stone, unconsciously, were fused
Into the plaintive speaking that we used,
Of absent friends and memories unforsook;
And, had we seen each other's face, we had
Seen haply, each was sad.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning


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  • hawaiiwave
Thanks alot Ladies,
I m not much of a full tiem poery lover but sometimes when heart is hurt it seeks the shelter of beautiful words and thats what poetry is about. one dont seek the words but lies within. there is always a hidden message is so little words. a broken heart seeks confort in another broekn heart.
so here is what i found was a small good poem.

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
A heartfelt WELCOME!!! Razi!

We are so glad 2 c u here! Brokn heart or not! Yes

Thanks for sharing your beautiful poetry!

And thanks Sue for this wonderful post, and all of you angels Angel with the wonderful replies!

Love and light being, Teo Do (Re, Mi, Fa...) Typing Book Idea Colors Cloud9 Cloud9

Have the heart of a gypsy, and the dedication of a soldier -Beethoven in Beethoven Lives Upstairs

the person who hurted me the most. she emails me and said sorry for what she have done and wished i will move on with my life. but she dont understand that body gets rotten. time passes but the memories never die. how can i forget all those beautiful moments which we have spent together and all those sunsets we have seen together.
my heart will never forget her. just because of some bad days in the end of our relation. i will not forget so many great moments we had together.
it is not easy to move on with life. especialy when a person has not only given her his heart but his soul.
heart can heal but can soul?
these days it is rainign all time in toronto and it is making so hard on me and all i do is to listen to some old classic music and think of why God give someone when he has plans to take her back.
alas !!!! i wish i knew the answer to this riddle.
Originally posted by dear Razi:
heart can heal but can soul?

Especially with the listening, and caring, of friends... Hug

I play piano, and find that sometimes I can "record" or "document" feelings, insights and experiences into my art - music, and 1) it helps me release from the feelings (if that's what i wish) and 2) allows me to share them! Asian

So... feel free to share your beautiful words with us! and get it out if you need to!

Thanks for the wonderful poem above... what is it called? Have you published?

Love and LIGHTNESS, Teo Do (Re, Mi, Fa, Soul....) CoolDance CoolDance

Have the heart of a gypsy, and the dedication of a soldier -Beethoven in Beethoven Lives Upstairs


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  • faerysiloute
Last edited by Teo
Thank you for starting the post Sue.

I am enjoying all te replies as well.
Thank you for your contributions.

Welcome Razi.
Time is a healer, and time is on your side. We don't always have the answer to why things happen to us, but often they are for the best.



The Weakest Thing
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Which is the weakest thing of all
Mine heart can ponder?
The sun, a little cloud can pall
With darkness yonder?
The cloud, a little wind can move
Where'er it listeth?
The wind, a little leaf above,
Though sere, resisteth?

What time that yellow leaf was green,
My days were gladder;
But now, whatever Spring may mean,
I must grow sadder.
Ah me! a leaf with sighs can wring
My lips asunder -
Then is mine heart the weakest thing
Itself can ponder.

Yet, Heart, when sun and cloud are pined
And drop together,
And at a blast, which is not wind,
The forests wither,
Thou, from the darkening deathly curse
To glory breakest, -
The Strongest of the universe
Guarding the weakest!


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  • Japanesemaple
Thanks Ladies,
yes! you ladies are right. when one have friends like you to support a person then no one feel being left alone and stressed anymore. i dated a few but i dont know why my heart is still at her. i know i need to move on but finding the right person, who that is, will she do same as what my ex did, stop me form getting into a relation. i m hurt once dont want to be hurt again. Toronto is a big place. lots of people and whom to seek whom not to seek is big task. i wish there was an easier way. heart is a magnet and one must bring his heart close to other hearts to see if it attracts or rejects. so far all are rejecting or attract very less.
anyway thanks ladies i m sure all the poetry lovers they know how it feels like being left alone by person whom u love so much. this poem is for u ladies for being there for me.

When life starts to get you down,
Remember the loved ones you have around.
And when you awaken feeling glum.
A happy song is all you need to hum.
If nothing seems to go your way,
And bad things seem to be the order of the day,
And everyone seems to be against you,
And you feel you're not getting the respect that's due,
If you're being by those who are older,
Try not to carry the whole world on your shoulder.
For you, someday, the world will be bright,
And everything will be alright.
It will get better, believe me.
Just say "C'est la vie, mon'ami"
Originally posted by dear Razi
when one have friends like you to support a person then no one feel being left alone and stressed anymore...

...It will get better, believe me.
Just say "C'est la vie, mon'ami"

Have the heart of a gypsy, and the dedication of a soldier -Beethoven in Beethoven Lives Upstairs

Last edited by Teo

SPEAK low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low
Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so
Who art not missed by any that entreat.
Speak to mo as to Mary at thy feet !
And if no precious gums my hands bestow,
Let my tears drop like amber while I go
In reach of thy divinest voice complete
In humanest affection -- thus, in sooth,
To lose the sense of losing. As a child,
Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore
Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth
Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled,
He sleeps the faster that he wept before.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning


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  • Miriambriks
Elizabeth you are a very nice poet. it takes alot of concentration and thoughts to write something so sweet as u do. u belong to same city as of me and i bet u r enjoying free time coz of long weekend. and my tomorow or day after tomorrow we will hear somethign new and much more deep from u. we knwo so much about ur poetry and would be nice to know about u. the back ground of ur poetry. what inspires u the most? who give you motivation and how is life.
it will be a honor for us to know that. at least to me. feel free to write if u want to.
my email adress is just if u dont want to disclose ur self.
Oh Goddddd i thought this post was from elizabeth. one my friend told me she was a poet in 19th century. sorry guys. i was lookign for a person in wrong time.
so how are u guys doing? haveno theard from u sue and vicky. hope to hear from u guys soon. things are getting better here on my side. but still as they say. heart match search is on.
Hug LaughingHey, I was hoping she would answer!!!

That's okay, Razi, I doubt that schools in Pakistan teach many classic English poets. On the other hand, they probably teach literature that we don't know about here in North America.

By the way, who wrote those beautiful poems you posted? Or have you been holding out on me and not telling me that you write poetry?

Well, talk to you later.

Last edited by losgann
Come on susan if i were able to write those poems then i might be jumping with joy. ofcouse i borrowed them from someone's mouth. i will try to find the writer's name and i will paste it there. so how is everything on your side? working hard just as any other american and spending 60% in mortgage? Smile life here is very hard isnot it? i will visit u when i will be coming to usa. but problem is finding time. all time working and working leaves me so tired u know. plus Human resource is not a very easy professin. so many phone calls. my assistant went to india so i have to do 2 jobs at same time. so pray for me.
No i have not read it yet susan but i will. u knwo i m hardly finding enough time to come onlien and leave any post these days. i told my partners that i need to share my work load. i hope that will serve the better intrest of the company. anyway, how is everything at ur end? my search si still on for the perfect match. i wonder where are all nice toronto ladies?Smile if u know any let em know Smile

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