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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
Yearn
Discern
Finite
Hearts
Infinite
Passion
Pain
Heart

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Where the apple reddens never pry - lest we lose our Edens, Eve and I.
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The common problem, yours, mine, everyone's Is ? not to fancy what were fair in life Provided it could be ? but, finding first What may be, then find how to make it fair Up to our means.
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My care is for myself Myself am whole and sole reality.
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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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A pretty woman's worth some pains to see.
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Women hate a debt as men a gift.
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Was there nought better than to enjoy? No feat which, done, would make time break, And let us pent-up creatures through Into eternity, our due? No forcing earth teach heaven's employ?
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Over my head his arm he flung, Against the world.
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I judge people by what they might be, - not are, nor will be.
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Desire joy and thank God for it. Renounce it, if need be, for other's sake. That's joy beyond joy.
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Aspire, break bounds. Endeavor to be good, and better still, best.
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Truth that peeps Over the glass's edge when dinner's done.
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Time'swheelsrunsbackor stops: Potterand clayendure.
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Mothers, wives and maids, These be the tools with which priests manage men.
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All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower.
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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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Truth is truth howe'er it strike.
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Generations pass while some tree stands, and old families last not three oaks.
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The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.
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That's the wise thrush he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!
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