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Stung by the splendour of a sudden thought.

Robert Browning

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Robert Browning
Age: 77 †
Born: 1812
Born: May 7
Died: 1889
Died: December 12
Dramaturgy
Playwright
Poet
Writer
London
England
Robert Barrett Browning
Browning
Sudden
Thought
Stung
Splendour

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We mortals cross the ocean of this world Each in his average cabin of a life The bests not big, the worst yields elbowroom.
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Shun death, is my advice.
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All's love, yet all's law.
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A minute's success pays the failure of years.
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It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.
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The great beacon light God sets in all, the conscience of each bosom.
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Have you found your life distasteful? My life did, and does, smack sweet. Was your youth of pleasure wasteful? Mine I saved and hold complete. Do your joys with age diminish? When mine fail me, I'll complain. Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again.
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For the preacher's merit or demerit, It were to be wished that the flaws were fewer In the earthen vessel, holding treasure, But the main thing is, does it hold good measure Heaven soon sets right all other matters!
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Aspire, break bounds. Endeavor to be good, and better still, best.
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What a name! Was it love or praise? Speech half-asleep or song half-awake? I must learn Spanish, one of these days, Only for that slow sweet name's sake.
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The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung To their first fault, and withered in their pride.
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All we have gained then by our unbelief Is a life of doubt diversified by faith, For one of faith diversified by doubt: We called the chess-board white-we call it black.
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I see my way as birds their trackless way. I shall arrive,- what time, what circuit first, I ask not but unless God send his hail Or blinding fire-balls, sleet or stifling snow, In some time, his good time, I shall arrive: He guides me and the bird. In his good time.
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One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake.
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Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.
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Love, hope, fear, faith - these make humanity These are its sign and note and character.
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Truth is truth howe'er it strike.
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What I aspired to be and was not, comforts me.
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how sad and bad and mad it was - but then, how it was sweet
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Be sure they sleep not whom God needs.
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