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how sad and bad and mad it was - but then, how it was sweet

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
Sweet
Nostalgia
Mad
Reflection

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The lie was dead And damned, and truth stood up instead.
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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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Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
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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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Sing, riding 's a joy! For me I ride.
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Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.
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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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Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
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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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All's love, yet all's law.
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Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things. The honest thief, the tender murderer, the superstitious atheist.
Robert Browning
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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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Stung by the splendour of a sudden thought.
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Success in marriage is more than finding the right person: it is being the right person.
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If thou tastest a crust of bread, thou tastest all the stars and all the heavens.
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But what if I fail of my purpose here? It is but to keep the nerves at strain, to dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, and baffled, get up and begin again.
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Oh never star Was lost here but it rose afar.
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But God has a few of us to whom he whispers in the ear The rest may reason and welcome 'tis we musicians know.
Robert Browning
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It 's wiser being good than bad It 's safer being meek than fierce It 's fitter being sane than mad. My own hope is, a sun will pierce The thickest cloud earth ever stretched That after Last returns the First, Though a wide compass round be fetched.
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In this world, who can do a thing, will not And who would do it, cannot, I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat — somewhat, too, the power — And thus we half-men struggle.
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