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What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?

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
Kissing
Lips
Stop
Wonder
Left
Soul

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In heaven I yearn for knowledge, account all else inanity On earth I confess an itch for the praise of fools - that's vanity
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Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.
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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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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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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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Oh the wild joys of living! The leaping from rock to rock ... the cool silver shock of the plunge in a pool's living waters.
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Our aspirations are our responsibilities.
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Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.
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The great mind knows the power of gentleness.
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My care is for myself Myself am whole and sole reality.
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Be sure they sleep not whom God needs.
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Say not a small event! Why small? Costs it more pain that this ye call A great event should come to pass From that? Untwine me from the mass Of deeds which make up life, one deed Power shall fall short in or exceed!
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Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!
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No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers, The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold.
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The candid incline to surmise of late that the Christian faith proves false.
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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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Truth never hurt the teller.
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Sorrow, the heart must bear, Sits in the home of each, conspicuous there. Many a circumstance, at least, Touches the very breast. For those Whom any sent away,--he knows: And in the live man's stead, Armor and ashes reach The house of each.
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Never brag, never bluster, never blush.
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Other heights in other lives, God willing.
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