Classic Love Poems
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Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861) was one of the most prominent and popular poets of the Victorian era. She was the wife of poet Robert Browning, whom she married in 1846 despite bitter objections by her father. Her famous poem, Sonnets from the Portuguese (1850), was written during her courtship with Browning. She resisted having such personal writings published, but relented at her husband’s urgings, and only under the condition that her name not appear on them. He called her “my little Portuguese” because of her dark coloring, and the name was used to mask her identity.
A celebration of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s love for her husband . . . written during their courtship
“Elizabeth Barrett Browning”
Oil on canvas
by Sir William Charles Ross
with a shower of dark curls
falling on each side of a
most expressive face,
large tender eyes richly
fringed by dark eyelashes,
and a smile like a
sunbeam . . .”
—Edmund Clarence Stedman,
from MRS. BROWNING, 1877
How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most 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 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.
The Face of All the World is Changed
(Sonnet 7)
The face of all the world is changed, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
Was caught up into love, and taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole
God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,
And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.
The names of country, heaven, are changed away
For where thou art or shall be, there or here;
And this . . . this lute and song . . . loved yesterday,
(The singing angels know) are only dear
Because thy name moves right in what they say.
If Thou Must Love Me (Sonnet 14)
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, Belovéd, 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 mayst love on, through love’s eternity.
First Time He Kissed Me (Sonnet 38)
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write,
And ever since it grew more clean and white, . . .
Slow to world-greetings . . . quick with its “Oh, list,”
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here plainer to my sight,
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!
That was the chrism of love, which love’s own crown,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third, upon my lips, was folded down
In perfect, purple state! since when, indeed,
I have been proud and said, “My Love, my own.”
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