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Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her- Next time, herself!-not the trouble behind her

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
Nothing
Shalt
Heart
Thou
Time
Behinds
Behind
Trouble
Fear
Next
Find

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Never brag, never bluster, never blush.
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That great brow And the spirit-small hand propping it.
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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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Into the street the piper stepped, Smiling first a little smile As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while. And the piper advanced And the children followed.
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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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All service ranks the same with God,- With God, whose puppets, best and worst, Are we: there is no last nor first.
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A minute's success pays the failure of years.
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Hatred and cark and care, what place have they / In yon blue liberality of heaven?.
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The peerless cup afloat Of the lake-lily is an urn some nymph Swims bearing high above her head.
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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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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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A lion may die of an ass's kick.
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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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Smiling the boy fell dead.
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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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It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.
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Of power does Man possess no particle: Of knowledge-just so much as show that still It ends in ignorance on every side.
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Fair or foul the lot apportioned life on earth, we bear alike.
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Days decrease, / And autumn grows, autumn in everything.
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