Aurora Leigh

Framsida
C. S. Francis & Company, 1857 - 351 sidor
"A novel in blank verse by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, published in 1857. The first-person narrative, which comprises some 11,000 lines, tells of the heroine's childhood and youth in Italy and England, her self-education in her father's hidden library, and her successful pursuit of a literary career. Initially resisting a marriage proposal by the philanthropist Romney Leigh, Aurora later surrenders her independence and weds her faithful suitor, whose own idealism has also since been tempered by experience. Aurora's career, Romney's social theories, and a melodramatic subplot concerning forced prostitution elicit the author's vivid observations on the importance of poetry, the individual's responsibility to society, and the victimization of women"--Everand website, viewed December 7, 2023.
 

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Sida 3 - Women know The way to rear up children (to be just) ; They know a simple, merry, tender knack Of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes, And stringing pretty words that make no sense, And kissing full sense into empty words ; Which things are corals to cut life upon, Although such trifles...
Sida 176 - As drowsy as the shepherds. What is art But life upon the larger scale, the higher, When, graduating up in a spiral line Of still expanding and ascending gyres, It pushes toward the intense significance Of all things, hungry for the Infinite ? Art 's life, — and where we live, we suffer and toil.
Sida 39 - I learnt to love that England. Very oft, Before the day was born, or otherwise Through secret windings of the afternoons, I threw my hunters off and plunged myself Among the deep hills, as a hunted stag Will take the waters, shivering with the fear And passion of the course. And when at last Escaped, so many a green slope built on slope Betwixt me and the...
Sida 339 - It takes a soul, To move a body: it takes a high-souled man, To move the masses, even to a cleaner stye: It takes the ideal, to blow a hair's-breadth off The dust of the actual. — Ah, your Fouriers failed, Because not poets enough to understand That life develops from within.
Sida 290 - I called myself, For that time. I just knew it when we swept Above the old roofs of Dijon : Lyons dropped A spark into the night, half trodden out Unseen. But presently the winding Rhone Washed out the moonlight large along his banks Which strained their yielding curves out clear and clean To hold it, — shadow of town and castle blurred Upon the hurrying river.
Sida 187 - I do distrust the poet who discerns No character or glory in his times, And trundles back his soul five hundred years, Past moat and drawbridge, into a castle-court, To sing — oh not of lizard or of toad Alive i...
Sida 194 - O sorrowful great gift Conferred on poets, of a twofold life, When one life has been found enough for pain ! We, staggering 'neath our burden as mere men, Being called to stand up straight as demi-gods...
Sida 17 - By the way, The works of women are symbolical. We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull our sight, Producing what? A pair of slippers, sir, To put on when you're weary - or a stool To stumble over and vex you . . . 'curse that stool!' Or else at best, a cushion, where you lean And sleep, and dream of something we are not But would be for your sake. Alas, alas! This hurts most, this - that, after all, we are paid The worth of our work, perhaps.
Sida 304 - Earth's crammed with heaven And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees, takes off his shoes...
Sida 41 - ... woods, netted in a silver mist, Farms, granges, doubled up among the hills; And cattle grazing in the watered vales, And cottage-chimneys smoking from the woods, And cottage-gardens smelling everywhere, Confused with smell of orchards. 'See,

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