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Sonnets from the Portuguese and Other Poems
Sonnets from the Portuguese and Other Poems
Sonnets from the Portuguese and Other Poems
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Sonnets from the Portuguese and Other Poems

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Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861), English poet and wife of the poet Robert Browning, is perhaps best known for her remarkable series of 44 love poems Sonnets from the Portuguese. Published in 1850, they were written by Mrs. Browning to her husband during the early years of their relationship. Their obvious sincerity, gentleness, and passion and the devotion and gratitude they express have made the poems popular favorites with generations of readers.
Mrs. Browning, however, addressed a wide range of other concerns, and this rich selection also includes poems dealing with religion, art, social problems, and political events. Among such works included here are: "Cheerfulness Taught by Reason," "A Curse for a Nation," "The Forced Recruit," "Grief," "A Musical Instrument," "The Cry of the Human," and many others.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateNov 1, 2012
ISBN9780486111575
Sonnets from the Portuguese and Other Poems
Author

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861) was an English poet. The daughter of a wealthy family—her father made his fortune as a slave owner in Jamaica, while her mother’s family owned and operated sugar plantations, mills, and ships—Browning eventually became an abolitionist and advocate for child labor laws. Her marriage to the prominent Victorian poet Robert Browning caused the final break between Browning and her family, after which she moved to Italy and lived there with Robert for the rest of her life. She began writing poems at a young age, finding success with the 1844 publication of Poems. Browning went on to be recognized as one of the foremost poets of early Victorian England, influencing such writers as Edgar Allen Poe and Emily Dickinson. She is most famous for her Sonnets from the Portuguese, a collection of 44 love poems published in 1850, and Aurora Leigh, an 1856 epic poem described by leading Victorian critic John Ruskin as the greatest long poem written in the nineteenth century. Browning suffered from numerous illnesses throughout her life, eventually succumbing in Florence at the age of 55.

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Rating: 4.279605279934211 out of 5 stars
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  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    First book gift I gave to Mike. After 28 years, still sits on his night stand.n yes, he reads it. Occasionally.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Receiving this as a gift on my 18th birthday from my best friend was one of my "Coming of Age" moments. It opened a wonderful world of being able to express all of those emotions that were inundating me, mentally and physically. I can never thank her enough.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I must say that I was slow to warm up to the poems and don't think I would have liked them as well without having read the Introduction first. Lovely, very personal. You can really see the path of the love affair between EBB and Robert Browning.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    As I read this slim volume of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's sonnets, I thought, "They don't write them like they used to." Browning's sonnets thrill readers with the language of another time and place but show her feelings and thoughts on love and also express her faith. The font on the volume I read was "set up by hand in Goudy Mediaeval type by Arthur and Edna Rushmore at The Golden Hind Press in Madison, New Jersey. Mxmxxxii." The font was as elegant as the poetry!
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    No time for proper reviews right now, as I'm at the end of my last class of grad school and I have a huge pile of short books I've snuck in since February that I need to rate.

    While I don't know Barrett Browning's whole story, I do find what I know to be quite meaningful to me. I appreciated the slow progression of the poems from disbelief to love, with all the confused and delightful nuances in between. Yes, I did find myself loving over-quoted sonnet number 14, and we may even read it at our wedding (nothing's settled). But again, I find the touch of melancholy and the knowledge that it was so successfully overcome particularly apt in our case.

    I also, to my surprise, very much liked sonnet 6. It really doesn't hold up under a feminist reading--"I feel I shall stand / henceforward in they shadow"--but the overall point of the poem, that no aspect of her life will be untouched by her lover going forward, is beautifully expressed: "What I do / and what I dream include the, as the wine / must taste of its own grapes." If it weren't for that last religious line, I might go for this one for the wedding. Maybe I will anyway...there's nothing to say we can't stop early!

    [Dates are a total guess because I totally forget.]
    [I almost feel guilty posting this lame review to my feed and forcing people I know to see it.]
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Despite a strong recommendation from a dear friend whose taste in books I respect greatly, I resisted reading Victorian English poetry, insisting I would never understand it. My resistance weaned, and I am glad for it. This utterly charming set of poetry is heartfelt and uplifting, and I find myself rooting for their love and for Elizabeth Barrett Browning herself. My only wish was for Elizabeth to have lived longer than her 55 years. But to have loved brilliantly for even only 15 years till a person’s end is still more than anyone can hope for. This set of highly personal poetry, written by Elizabeth throughout her courtship with Robert Browning, which began in 1845, eloped in 1846, was gifted to him in 1849. The uniqueness in their relationship drove this set of sonnets to be particularly celebratory. She was an accomplished poet with published works (early career woman), older than him by 6 years (unusual then), she was age 39 when they met (finding love late in life), she was an invalid (shame, feeling inadequate). He courted her for her and the beauty of her poetry, appreciating her mind and her as a person, which is always the best basis to start any relationship. She had great hesitations, partly due to feeling that she doesn’t measure up and some influence from her family, deeming him to be a gold digger. In the end, their love flourished, and we, the readers, are blessed to have this set of sonnets that remind us what Love is really about – all-encompassing, unconditional, whole-heartedly, with acceptance. ♥Quotes (abbreviated):Sonnet I: Her hope for love, but hope lost, given up.The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,Those of my own life,………“Guess now who holds thee!” --- “Death” I said.But thereThe silver anaswer rang, --- “Not Death, but Love” Sonnet VII: To be in love, surprised, and her world changing on account of it. (It’s such a beautiful new experience for her.)…………, where I, who thought to sink,Was caught up into love,………And this… this lute and song… love yesterday,(The singing angels know) are only dearBecause thy name moves right in what they say.Sonnet VIII: Feeling inadequate in the relationship. (To me, this is such a classic amongst even solid relationships, doubting oneself, constantly wondering if you measure up, despite how much love is flowing both ways.)What can I give thee back, O liberalAnd princely giver, who hast brought the gold and purple of thine heart…………… am I cold,Ungrateful, that for these most manifoldHigh gifts, I render nothing back at all?No so; not cold, ---- but very poor instead.Sonnet X: Burning with Love. She is enthralled, enraptured, consumed with love. Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeedAnd worthy of acceptation…………And love is fire. And when I say at needI love thee… mark!... I love thee – in thy sightI stand transfigured…………Sonnet XIV: She asked to be loved, simply for love’s sake and not for anything that may change or out of pity. (I find this to be such a logical and basic thought that doesn’t seem to be considered much.) If thou must love me, let it be for noughtExcept for love’s sake only. Do not say“I love her for her smile ---her look---her wayOf speaking gently,………”For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee,………………….Neither love me forThine own dear pity’s wiping my cheeks dry,---………But love me for love’s sake, that evermoreThou may’st love on, through love’s eternity.Sonnet XX: She has doubts and wants reassurance. (I am guilty of requiring reassurance. Perhaps guilty is too strong a word. I simply believe that every relationship should have continued reassurance. No man or woman should be made to assume they are loved while drudging through the stress of daily life, and some times, shamed for wanting assurance. It should be freely given, via a gentle touch, a kind smile, a twinkle in your eyes.) Say over again, and yet once over again,That thou dost love me…………Beloved, I, amid the darkness greetedBy a doubtful spirit – voice, in that doubt’s painCry, “Speak once more---thou lovest!”………Say thou dost love me, love me, love me---tollThe silver iterance!---only minding, Dear,To love me also in silence with thy soul.Sonnet XXXVIII: She writes of the first kiss, the second kiss, the third kiss. (The beauty of increasing passion between two lovers…)First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;………………….The second passed in heightThe frist, and sought the forehead, and half missed,Half falling on the hair…………The third upon my lips was folded downIn perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,I have been proud and said, “My love, my own.”Sonnet XXXIX, in its entirety: To be accepted for who she is, she expresses gratitude. (This is easily the most powerful sonnet, despite the popularity of ‘how do I love thee, let me count the ways’. There is not a single person who does not desire to be accepted for who he/she is. To have found that lover/mate/partner in life is a treasure that ought to be celebrated.)Because thou hast the power and own’st the graceTo look through and behind this mask of me,(Against which, years have beat thus blanchinglyWith their rains,) and behold my soul’s true face,The dim and weary witness of life’s race, -Because thou hast the faith and love to see,Through that same soul’s distracting lethargy,The patient angel waiting for a placeIn the new Heavens, - because nor sin nor woe,Nor God’s infliction, nor death’s neighborhood,Nor all which other’s viewing, turn to go,Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed, -Nothing repels thee … Dearest, teach me soTo pour gratitude, as thou dost, good!Sonnet XLII: She starts a new future, gladly. (Such a powerful conviction and will to know this is what she wants, especially in light that her father has disowned her and her family has abandoned her due to her marriage.) My future will not copy fair my past---I wrote that once; and thinking at my sideMy ministering life………I seek no copy now of life’s first half:Leave here the pages with long musing curled,And write me new my future’s epigraph,New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!Sonnet XLIII, in its entirety: The most famous – to have love that is complete, free, pure, passionate, and also enduring even after death.How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sightFor the ends of Being and ideal Grace.I love thee to the level of everyday’sMost quiet need, by sun and candle-light.I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.I love thee with the passion put to useIn my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.I love thee with a love I seemed to loseWith 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.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    I had not expected this collection of love poems to be so melancholic. Although a degree of self-doubt and uncertainty goes along with any lovers thoughts, the tone here is of such low self-esteem, such self-recrimination that it strikes me that the poet was suffering from depression. But through the darkness, there are sparks of hope, that maybe love will come, will be true and will rescue.In the end, the poet is redeemed and transformed by love, but it seems to have been a close-run thing.There's such beautiful imagery in every poem that it's almost impossible to select one out above the others, but I particularly like Sonnet V:I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,As one Electra her sepulchral urn,And, looking in thine eyes, I overturnThe ashes at thy feet. Behold and seeWhat a great heap of grief lay hid in me,And how the red wild sparkles dimly burnThrough the ashen greyness. If thy foot in scornCould tread them out to darkness utterly,It might be well perhaps. But if insteadThou wait beside me for the wind to blowThe grey dust up,...those laurels on thine head,O my Belovëd, will not shield thee so,That none of all the fires shall scorch and shredThe hair beneath. Stand further off then! go!

Book preview

Sonnets from the Portuguese and Other Poems - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

The Sleep

‘ He giveth His beloved sleep.’

—Psalm cxxvii./ 2.

I

Of all the thoughts of God that are

Borne inward into souls afar,

Along the Psalmist’s music deep,

Now tell me if that any is,

For gift or grace, surpassing this:

‘ He giveth his belovèd—sleep? ’

II

What would we give to our beloved ?

The hero’s heart to be unmoved,

The poet’s star-tuned harp to sweep,

The patriot’s voice to teach and rouse,

The monarch’s crown to light the brows ?

He giveth his belovèd—sleep.

III

What do we give to our beloved?

A little faith all undisproved,

A little dust to overweep,

And bitter memories to make

The whole earth blasted for our sake:

He giveth his belovèd—sleep.

IV

.‘ Sleep soft,’ beloved ! we sometimes say,

Who have no tune to charm away

Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep:

But never doleful dream again

Shall break the happy slumber when

He giveth his belovèd—sleep.

V

O earth, so full of dreary noises !

O men, with wailing in your voices !

O delvèd gold, the wailers heap !

O strife, O curse, that o’er it fall !

God strikes a silence through you all,

And giveth his belovèd—sleep.

VI

His dews drop mutely on the hill,

His cloud above it saileth still,

Though on its slope men sow and reap:

More softly than the dew is shed,

Or cloud is floated overhead,

He giveth his belovèd—sleep.

VII

Ay, men may wonder while they scan

A living, thinking, feeling man

Confirmed in such a rest to keep;

But angels say, and through the word

I think their happy smile is heard—

‘He giveth his belovèd—sleep.’

VIII

For me, my heart that erst did go

Most like a tired child at a show,

That sees through tears the mummers leap,

Would now its wearied vision close,

Would childlike on his love repose

Who giveth his belovèd—sleep.

IX

And friends, dear friends, when it shall be

That this low breath is gone from me,

And round my bier ye come to weep,

Let One, most loving of you all,

Say ‘ Not a tear must o’er her fall !

‘ He giveth his beloved sleep.’

A Sea-Side Walk

I

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, a heap of ashes pale:

So runs the Arab tale.

II

The sky above us showed

A 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 gray

Swang in its moon-taught way.

III

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.

IV

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:

V

For though we never spoke

Of the gray water and 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.

Consolation

All are not taken; there are left behind

Living Belovèds, tender looks to bring

And make the daylight still a happy thing,

And tender voices, to make soft the wind:

But if it were

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