You'll find the poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning in Quotes & Aphorisms and in Poems.
Thou large-brained woman and large-hearted man,
Self-called George Sand! Whose soul, amid the lions
Of thy tumultuous senses, moans defiance
And answers roar for roar, as spirits can:
I would some mild miraculous thunder ran
Above the applauded circus, in appliance
Of thine own nobler nature's strength and science...
Since when was genius found respectable?
A poet could not sleep aright,
For his soul kept up too much light
Under his eyelids for the night.
And thus he rose disquieted
With sweet rhymes ringing through his head,
And in the forest wandered...
Nay, if there's room for poets in the world
a little overgrown, (I think there is)
Their sole work is to represent the age,
Their age, not Charlemagne's, — this live, throbbing age,
That brawls, cheats, maddens, calculates, aspires,
And spends more passion, more heroic heat,
Betwixt the mirrors of its drawing-rooms...
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.