Rings

How do I love thee, let me count the ways, Elizabeth Barrett Browning begins her...

Work it in gold and silver grapes, Christina Rossetti writes in A Birthday, in leaves...

Heard melodies are sweet, Keats writes of the figures carved into his urn, but those...

Marianne Dashwood loves nature the way she loves everything else in Sense and Sensibility, completely...

Pearl, in The Scarlet Letter, is described more than once as decked in whatever the...

Becky Sharp spends the whole of Vanity Fair working her way toward exactly this kind...

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, Keats writes to his nightingale, singest of summer...

In which it seemed always afternoon, Tennyson writes of the land his sailors wash up...

The rose is a rose, Robert Frost writes, and was always a rose, a small,...

The Lady of Shalott spends her whole poem weaving what she sees only in reflection,...

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Herrick's whole poem insists, and this ring is built...

D.H. Lawrence named a whole story after the smell of chrysanthemums filling a house on...