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Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.

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
Heart
Yearn
Discern
Finite
Hearts
Infinite
Passion
Pain

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Truth that peeps Over the glass's edge when dinner's done.
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Oh never star Was lost here but it rose afar.
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Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
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What's the earth With all its art, verse, music, worth — Compared with love, found, gained, and kept?
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My care is for myself Myself am whole and sole reality.
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Never the time and the place And the loved one all together.
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It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.
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Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!
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Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet. From the ripple to run over in its mirth
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Look not down but up!
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You never know what life means till you die even throughout life, tis death that makes life live.
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Then welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain Learn, nor account the pang dare, never grudge the throe!
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Shakespeare was of us, Milton was of us, Burns, Shelley, were with us. They watch from their graves!
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Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
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Who knows most, doubts most.
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Unless you can love, as the angels may, With the breadth of heaven betwixt you Unless you can dream that his faith is fast, Through behoving and unbeloving Unless you can die when the dream is past- Oh, never call it loving!
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Progress is The law of life: man is not Man as yet.
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All poetry is difficult to read - The sense of it anyhow.
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What Youth deemed crystal, Age finds out was dew.
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Is your love for the Lord sufficient to give all your time and talents to his work?
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